


Bargaining

by Protocol_Athena



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:56:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7228984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Protocol_Athena/pseuds/Protocol_Athena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Honor resides in one's actions." </p><p>He was beautiful. She wasn't expecting him to be beautiful. Tall, older than she assumed, streaks of grey threaded through dark hair that was pulled back not out of vanity, but utilitarian necessity. A fighter, that much was obvious – one arm was bare, shoulder branded with an intricately detailed tattoo that only accented the muscle beneath it. He stood with the artful poise of a dancer just on the edge of movement, stance relaxed and wary at the same time. </p><p>(Post-animated shorts)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The air was positively dripping with the scent of cherry blossoms. Gwen might have enjoyed it, were her circumstances different. As it was, she was sitting in a room she didn’t recognize, richly appointed with furnishings – a long table, several elegant rugs, and beautiful scrolls hanging from the walls – someone’s home, obviously, though who she couldn’t say. Nor could she say for certain how she’d gotten there. The last thing she remembered was going to sleep in her own room at the research facility, which most definitely did not smell like cherry blossoms in the slightest.

The woman who wheeled her in stepped gracefully in front of the chair, bowed low to no one at all and just as gracefully vacated the room, leaving her in silence. Left with little other options, she waited.

She didn’t have to wait long.

“Your name is Gwendolyn Hartford.” An unknown voice spoke from the shadows, soft and silken and edged with steel. “You graduated with highest honors from your university, majoring in applied sciences with specializations in nanobiology, programming, microelectronic and mechanical engineering. Yet despite your high marks in university, your grades in early education were passable at best.”

Gwen glanced around, keeping perfectly still as the unfamiliar voice washed over her, silently hiding her surprise. Early morning sun sliced dappled beams through the vast expanse of the room, with the exception of the lone corner in which the man – the stranger – stood. Deliberately, she presumed. And even as she pondered, the voice continued on.

“Your last recorded IQ test score was 158; you earned perfect scores on all standardized exams, a feat which earned you your pick of universities and scholarships, despite your poor grades. After university, you worked for the Altean Corporation in research and development, and pioneered a new strain of nanotechnology capable of rapidly replicating injured and damaged tissues.” The voice paused, unexpectedly kind. “A great accomplishment,” it offered.

“Thank you,” she spoke at last. It was all she could think of to say.

“And yet after developing this technology, you simply…left the company.  You vanished off the face of the world entirely, exiting the field of science as quickly as you entered it.”

Gwen shrugged off a flicker of irritation. Whoever the voice was, he was trying to intimidate her. She wasn’t about to let him have the satisfaction.

“You have no family.”

She straightened stiffly in the chair, eyeing the shadowy corner with renewed interest. “I don’t see why any of this is relevant.”

“No family,” the voice continued, oblivious to her implied inquiry, or perhaps in spite of it. “Born in the western United States. Your mother’s name was Katherine, who died while giving birth to you. Your father’s name was Jonathan, who –”

“– killed himself,” she heard herself say. “Four months after she died. Yes.”

The voice fell silent for a moment. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said. As if it made any difference.

“I didn’t know them.”

“You were raised in an orphanage in the wake of the Omnic Crisis,” the voice softly continued, tinged with faint sympathy. “Never adopted, you entered the school system at a normal age. And yet… you thrived.” The soft hush of movement altered her undivided attention to the shadowy corner once more, but he didn’t emerge. “You are an admirable woman, Miss Hartford. You have accomplished much, despite such … adverse beginnings to your life.”

She shifted in the chair, suddenly uncomfortable. “Is this is the part where I point out you have me at a disadvantage? After all, you’ve clearly done your research. But I don’t know the first thing about you.”

"You may ask three questions." 

Gwen struggled marvelously to keep a straight face, but she couldn't keep a thin, bitter bark of a laugh from escaping. From the shadows, the stranger stiffened, stood taller. "You find this amusing?"

"I’m sorry, I can't decide if I'm in the middle of a noir film or a fairytale. Both ideas are equally ridiculous." 

"-you may ask three questions," he repeated, a dangerous glimmer of cold anger in his tone.

"Are you even being serious right now?"

A pause. "I am. Two questions remain, Miss Hartford." He was, Gwen noted absently, doing a poor job of keeping his irritation in check. "I suggest you ask _wisely_."

She sighed. "Where am I?"

"Japan. Specifically, my home. A temporary one - I was owed...certain favors. This space is well suited to my particular needs. One question remains. Ask it."

She folded her arms in her lap thoughtfully, carefully mulling over her options before at last choosing her question. "How long have you kept me drugged?"

The shadowy figure took slightly longer to answer. “Five days,” he said, his voice laden with equal parts surprise and fascination. "It took three to have you moved without detection, and I could not risk your awakening during the journey."

Quiet settled in the room, and she settled comfortably within it, her eyes locked on the shadowy corner in wordless challenge, daring him to speak first.

He took it. "You did not ask if I would hurt you."

"If you wanted to, you already would have."

A rich chuckle rippled from the shadows. "A wise assumption."

"You already knew I was smart."

"Intelligence is not necessarily wisdom, Miss Hartford."

"Aptly put." She tilted her head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling, blue skies and sunlight faintly visible between the rafters, mocking her with freedom tantalizingly close and yet oh so far away. "...are we to dance around words all morning, then, or are you going to get around to telling me exactly what it is you want?"

"You had three questions, Miss Hartford. Why did you not ask while you had the chance?"

"You brought me here," she raised an eyebrow. "You had your servants bathe me, dress me, doll me up and wheel me out here. You've had me _here_ – wherever here _is_ – for two full days, and you've done nothing to hurt me. You wouldn't have gone to all that trouble if you didn't have some reason, some purpose in all of this."

"Yet you did not ask," he persisted.

"Because I know you're going to tell me eventually. Why waste a question on it? You can't keep me in the dark forever...although you seem to be content enough to linger there."

"I want...your services." Her jaw set in a hard line, fingers tightening around the arms of the chair. But he continued on, his tone respectful, even admiring. "You are an exceptional woman, Miss Hartford. Your work sets you apart from your peers. It sets you apart from your superiors. You have a brilliant mind...it is little wonder that Overwatch sought you out."

Gwen swallowed a faint flicker of apprehension. "Overwatch is gone."

"You will find I am a patient man, Miss Hartford, but I have little patience for lies." He stepped out of the shadows at last, and Gwen's voice died in her throat before she could find words for a reply.

He was beautiful. She wasn't expecting him to be beautiful. Tall, older than she assumed, streaks of grey threaded through dark hair that was pulled back not out of vanity, but utilitarian necessity. A fighter, that much was obvious – one arm was bare, shoulder branded with an intricately detailed tattoo that only accented the muscle beneath it. He stood with the artful poise of a dancer just on the edge of movement, stance relaxed and wary at the same time. 

His gaze was stern, calculating. Yet...tired. Whether weariness or sadness, she couldn't really say for certain. And he was watching her, she realized. Watching like a hawk for her reaction, rich brown eyes tracking her every movement openly and obviously. He wanted her to _know_ he was watching. He wanted to see what she would do about it. How she would react.

She gave him _nothing_.

The silence and tension stretched impossibly thin until finally, he broke both. "Miss Hartford,” he purred, one corner of his mouth quirking upward in a sardonic half-smile. “I do not know where you disappeared, when you left Altean. But I know where you were when I found you. Where you were when I brought you here. I know what was in that facility. I know who was running it. You cannot hide them, any more than they could hide you.”

"You…didn’t hurt them, did you?"

"I did not. _They_ were not my concern." His expression never wavered. Gwen kept her eyes firmly locked on his face, and tried to ignore the sudden prickling along her arms, the alarm pooling in the pit of her stomach. _Like prey_ , she thought. _Like prey being stalked_.

"It is as I said. I have need of your services. While I am well-schooled and well trained, it was not in your particular area of expertise." He paused expectantly, waiting for an interruption, but she refused to oblige him. "What do you know of cloning technology?"

Gwen blinked despite herself, taken by surprise. "As much as any other trained nanobiologist. It's part of everyone's curriculum. I didn't specialize in it –”

“– but what do you know of it?" He repeated. Gwen shifted uncomfortably. Somewhere between his question and her answer, he'd moved closer. She didn't see him do it, which was more than a little disconcerting because she hadn't taken her eyes off him since he stepped from the shadows.

"What anyone knows about it. It's simple enough to do; about as common as certain genetic enhancements, primarily used in agriculture or medicine. Either grow crops, or grow parts." She refused to blink. If she did, she was certain he'd be –

He was no more than five feet from her chair, now, and far taller than he'd looked when standing across the room. "What of cloning living creatures?"

"What, you mean...I mean they used to. People paid small fortunes to have their pets cloned. Booming industry before the global government banned its use. Something about ethics, playing god, the usual."

"And can you clone a human being?"

The silence stretched on, and while he didn't move any closer, she could almost feel the curiosity radiating from his skin. "...no," she said, finally. "It’s not…look, when you clone something...not that you do, it's illegal, right? The only cloning legal these days is cloning things – objects that don't _have_ consciousness. Cloning animals was difficult enough, back then. But human beings? That's even harder. You'll never get an exact replica."

"Even with viable DNA?" 

"Even with viable DNA,” she agreed. “Back when they were cloning animals, pets, what you got...it wasn't an exact copy. That's why people started protesting it – that's what got it banned. Because the thing is, you can have an exact genetic replica, right? Down to every last physical detail. But the consciousness...it isn't the same. It's a baby; it's like a baby being born. Animals are conditioned and raised a certain way. A genetic replica of Fluffy the dog isn't going to act like Fluffy did, because it's not being raised in the exact same set of circumstances, and doesn't have the same experiences as the genetic donor." 

He'd moved closer while she was talking, mere feet away from her now, staring down at her with curious, detached interest. "And that's something that would only be magnified with a human being," she doggedly continued on, ignoring the intensity in his eyes, "Because we are the end result of a series of perceptions and observations made over the course of our lives. You could clone a human, yes – but that baby wouldn't grow up to be the same individual you cloned it from. It wouldn’t have the same memories, experiences."

"And if the clone were fully grown?" He softly asked.

She bit back the instinct to shrink away, stubbornly lifting her chin. "That...that would be unthinkable. You can’t just…clone something fully grown – you have to wait for it to grow _up_. To force that kind of age acceleration…I don’t even know what that would take.” Drugs, she assumed. Or advanced genetic engineering, far beyond what she was capable of – none of this was her specialty. Why was she _here?_ “And even if you did somehow manage _that_ , it wouldn’t work. You'd essentially have an adult human being with the brain capacity of a baby. It wouldn't know how to walk. Or talk. Or think – it'd be a…a body in a tank. Nothing more than that."

“I see.” He stepped away, granting her a brief reprieve from his presence and his eyes, now directed thoughtfully across the room where a small door led to…who knew where.

Gwen eyed him suspiciously, now that his back was turned. “You…already know all of this, don’t you.”

He turned his head just enough to catch sight of her over his shoulder and once more flashed that smug, sardonic smile. “I have a puzzle for you, Miss Hartford. You like puzzles.”

“Did you find that in all your research?” Her patience was wearing increasingly thin.

He sharply waved the question away, rounding to stride across the room, both hands placed with firm precision on the long table, hunched and bent as sculpture in sunlight and watching her like a hawk. “The operational systems of a computer, Miss Hartford, can be moved from one unit to another, held in stasis until installed. Correct?”

“Y…yes,” she warily replied, suspicious of the sudden change in questioning.

“Yet some of those systems are no mere systems. Programming, technology has advanced to the point where scientists can craft intelligence itself, omnics capable of independent thought, reasoning.”

“And souls,” she agreed, “…if you ask the right omnics, anyway.”

His eyes darkened, narrowed in thought. “Yes. For some, this is their truth.”

“…but not yours,” she finished without thinking. 

Hawk-like eyes caught her own and held them helpless and pinned. “I am not an omnic. Nor will you find any here.”

It was a good answer. She broke free of his stare, returning her attention to the room and its furnishings. “Some systems are far more complex, yes. But omnics…there have been ongoing debates about omnic development since the end of the crisis. Certainly some lower-level omnics can have their operating systems transferred from one system to another – it’s how the omniums were able to mass-produce to begin with. But there are…others.”

“Mondatta,” he said. Gwen nodded, examining one of the scrolls, unwilling to let him catch her with that stare again. “Yes, Mondatta – and his followers, among others. They display a consciousness, a self-awareness far beyond any mere mass-produced omnic. When he…” She silently cursed herself for the momentary waver in her voice as she spoke, “—when he was killed, there was no reviving him. His consciousness had ended. Whatever program may have manufactured Mondatta…it was either unable or unwilling to simply be reinstalled.”

“Unwilling?”

“It…had accepted death. Perhaps. I haven’t seen all the reports on his death. Classified information. This is all rumors at best, among the scientific community.”

“But what of you, Miss Hartford? What do you think of such a thing?”

She shrugged. “I think a program is a program. It can be moved, it can be uploaded, programming can be changed.”

“The human mind is very like a computer, is it not?”

“Some say so,” Gwen replied warily. “It demonstrates some of the same qualities.”

“Such as?”

“It can be programmed,” she said softly. “It can be manipulated to think a certain way, given a certain set of parameters. It modifies its reactions based on data gathered – as I said, we are the end result – “

“– of a series of perceptions and observations made over the course of our lives, yes.” She could feel his eyes on her again, and didn’t dare turn her head to confirm her suspicions. “But if this is the case, Miss Hartford…is it not possible, then, to transfer consciousness? To channel the mind itself from one vessel to another?”

Gwen froze, simultaneously horrified and fascinated. “You…you mean like a brain transplant? That…it’s been done with cybernetics – cyberization isn’t a common practice, but it’s been utilized before.”

“No. No cybernetics, no manufactured parts. Organic. With an organic body. A body, as you so aptly put it, in a tank.” His hands clenched the table, white knuckles betraying an otherwise serene, composed posture.

Gwen paled and swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, eyes pinned helplessly on the scroll, an elegant depiction of two dragons joyously twisting together in the sky. “Mr.…whoever you are,” she began, her voice low and calm. “What you are asking is not only completely illegal; it’s unethical on six or seven different levels.”

“Is it possible?”

“You’re suggesting a method of immortality–”

 “Is it _possible_?” he repeated, his voice rough with barely-suppressed desperation, enough that it drew her attention from the scroll at last.

There was something inherently _wrong_ about all of this. The questions. The look in his eyes. Focused, determined, and...anguished, to some small degree. It lurked around the corners. It hid itself in his muscles, corded and tense despite his relaxed posture, in the whiteness of his knuckles, fists clenched tightly. In his breath, drawn even and calm, too even and calm to be anything but a fabrication. An act.

And in between the shadowed planes of his face, sharp cheekbones that gracefully cut the air each time he turned his head…ah, there was the puzzle. Not the question, nor the answer, but the man himself.

“Yes,” she heard herself faintly reply. “Anything is _possible_.”

He stood at once and strode to where she sat, knelt before her chair as if she were some kind of royalty, and looked her in the eyes, the stern façade momentarily melting away to hopeful seriousness. “This is your puzzle, Miss Hartford. If you think you can accomplish it, I will provide you with every resource you deem necessary. If you succeed, I will give you whatever you desire after the task is done.”

Ordinarily she would have thought such an offer completely insane. But he spoke with such utter conviction, such sincerity that she couldn’t help but believe him – because he meant every word. “…and if I refuse?” she asked quietly, steeling herself for the answer.

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face and he rose to his feet, impassive stranger once more. “Then you will be returned to your home.”

Gwen blinked. “Y…you aren’t going to kill me? What if I t—“

He shook his head. “I do not kill _needlessly_ , Miss Hartford. And there are ways to ensure you do not recall this conversation, or this place. You will wake, refreshed and home, with no memory of myself, or that we have ever spoken.”

She stared at her hands, lost in thought. That was not the answer she had expected. “You’re telling me, after going to all the trouble of getting me out of the facility – which I _know_ wasn’t an easy task – and dragging me here, if I tell you no you’re going to go to all the trouble of wiping my memories and ferreting me back into the facility? Without being harmed?” Gwen glanced up at him, her brow furrowed, hoping to ferret something out of his stance or expression. A giveaway, a tell, a reason for the unexpected generosity.

He gave her _nothing_. Merely the serene smile of someone who knew they held the upper hand.

And he did, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. Oh, she could say no – but this was far too interesting _not_ to pursue, and he knew it. Whoever he was, he’d done his research all right, and this was all carefully constructed just for her – the mysterious entrance, the litany of information he had on her, the line of questioning – hell for all she knew even the strangely emotional break in his carefully constructed façade was just another layer of cover.

He had her right where he wanted her. But all she had to do was say no. Call his bluff.

“What’s your name?” she heard herself say.

“Hanzo. You may call me Hanzo, Miss Hartford.” she heard him reply.

“Call me Gwen. ...and get ready to start ordering a _lot_ of parts.”

Her curiosity was going to get her killed, one of these days.


	2. Chapter 2

_Eight months ago_

 

Gwen stared at her screen, finger hovering over her mouse. Reply. One click. Easy enough to do. And yet she still hesitated, unable to stop re-reading the message. Anonymous email, anonymous sender, routed through at least eight different countries before arriving in her inbox.

_We need you._

_It’s a trap. Probably._ She glanced at the clock – 3am, far too late for any reasonable person to be up. Which, logically speaking, meant this was from another time zone altogether, another country. Logic, however, didn’t really seem to be on anyone’s minds lately – between global crime sprees, riots, and assassinations, the world wasn’t exactly the safest of places. Not for anyone. Especially not for people like her.

Gwen didn’t really take notice of the disappearances until two of her former coworkers vanished, seemingly into thin air. She might’ve left Altean, but they hadn’t – and they’d gained enough notoriety over the course of their careers that their apparent kidnapping was all over the global news network. Well … the news called it a kidnapping. There was no real proof, no evidence of any foul play.

And Gwen initially assumed they were simply talking up what was probably just a case of two scientists being terribly burnt out and breaking under the pressures of Altean’s upper management – until she saw another report. Another country, another scientist. Two weeks later, six more reported missing.  Three of which, Gwen realized with a sinking sensation, were former classmates of hers – working genetic research for yet another global megacorporation, this one based out of Atlanta.

The screen flickered, and Gwen flinched, rubbing her bleary eyes and silently focusing on the subject line for the umpteenth time. The subject meant nothing, really – the contents were far more interesting.

 

> _RE: Cambridge Class Reunion_
> 
> _Miss G. Hartford_
> 
> _I wish I were writing you under better circumstances. If you’ve been watching the news – and I know you have – you’ve noticed several of your classmates, colleagues, and other scientists matching your qualifications have been systematically disappearing over the last several weeks. My colleagues and I believe this is intentional._
> 
> _We also believe you’re one of the next on the list._
> 
> _Please don’t be alarmed, we have nothing to do with the disappearances, nor do we wish you any harm. On the contrary, we’d like to protect you and others like you. Although we don’t know why these disappearances are happening, we believe we know who is carrying them out._
> 
> _And to be perfectly honest … we need you. Consider this both an offer of protection, and an offer of employment, a job unlike any other you’ve ever had. You’ve seen what the world has become, Miss Hartford. We don’t think it needs to be this way. But we can’t do it alone._
> 
> _If you are interested, please reply to this email, and be discreet. While we’re able to encrypt our own messages to you, there’s no guarantee your systems aren’t already compromised.  And Miss Hartford, should you turn us down, please don’t worry about your safety – you’re under close watch. We won’t let you become another statistic._
> 
> _W._
> 
> _P.S. I do hope you’ll take the offer, I’ve wanted to discuss your dissertation on the ethics of applied genetic nanobiology for quite some time._

Gwen backed her chair away from the desk and went to the kitchen, absently pouring herself another cup of coffee, 3am or not. Altean was a mistake. She knew it three weeks after her work began – and she continued anyway.

It wasn’t like she had a choice; her student loans were astronomical, something that would take a lifetime to pay back…or two years working for an organization who, she was relatively certain, wasn’t exactly working with the best interests of patients in mind. The choice seemed easy at the time, her first paycheck absolutely stunned her, she’d never seen that many numbers in a row in her bank account before.

She shook her head, wheeling her way back to the desk, the screen, and the email. Maybe it didn’t matter at first. But it mattered now. The world had never been an exceptionally kind place, but that didn’t mean she wanted to give up on it.

The last thing Gwendolyn Marie Hartford would _ever_ do is give up.

Narrowing her eyes and steeling her resolve, she reached for her mouse, hit reply, typed two words, and hit send.

 

> _I’m in_.

Not more than thirty seconds later, there was a knock at her front door. Gwen froze. The knock sounded again, followed almost immediately with the soft, simultaneous chime of both her computer’s inbox and her phone.

 

> _Don’t worry, you can answer the door._
> 
> _W._

Gwen blinked, glancing from phone to door, where a third knock sounded – somewhat impatiently – and hit the remote lock. “Come in,” she said, her voice thankfully steady.

If anyone had suggested to her that morning that she’d be facing down a cowboy by sundown, she would have cheerfully declared them completely insane. And yet there he was, one hand hooked on his belt, the other, shiny and metallic, politely tilting his hat in her direction. “Bout time, darlin’. Figured maybe you already backed out,” he drawled, flashing a lazy grin around a mouthful of cigar.

“Are you…W?” she asked feeling slightly foolish.

He waved a hand. “Naw, that’s Winston. You’ll meet him soon enough – he ain’t exactly discreet when he’s walkin’ round town. You’ll see.”

Gwen blinked again, somewhat incredulous, taking in the hat, the bright red poncho, and the oversized, gaudy belt buckle he wore. “And you _are_?”

“I can be downright sneaky when I gotta mind to be, darlin’.” Plucking the dead cigar from his mouth, he raised one shaggy brow, lifting his chin at the trash can near the door in silent inquiry. At her nod, he tossed it and turned to glance around the small apartment, hands on hips, his expression thoughtful.  “Won’t be needin’ much of any of this where we’re going. Got a suitcase?”

“Yes,” Gwen replied, somewhat dazed and wondering if she should begin regretting her decision now, or later. “Can you tell me where we’re going, please?”

The man shook his head. “Classified. But don’t you worry, sweetheart – you’ll be in good hands with Winston and the rest. Tell you what, you point me at your suitcase, I’ll help you pack, and you can ask me any questions you want. We got a deal?”

“What’s your name?”

“McCree. But you, darlin’ – you can call me Jesse.” He winked, cocking his head at the door behind him. “Now why don't you go on and lock that door...just in case.”

 

 

* * *

 

_Three months ago_

_Five._

There wasn’t really any reason for the counting. It just kept her mind off the uncertain voice that ran, constant and unwavering in the back of her mind. A subtle, dissonant murmur of _this will never work, you didn’t account for the right variables, you weren’t thinking, you can’t, you won’t, it’ll never happen_.

_Four._

Gwendolyn had heard that voice pretty much the entirety of her life. Maybe she didn’t recognize it when she was a baby, but it was there. And as the years went on and she grew older, it didn’t go away – oh no, it never went away. But she learned to ignore it. Most of the time.

_Three._

The light on the console flashed twice before it abruptly flickered from red to green. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, and allowed herself the smallest of smiles.

“Did it work?”

“Looks like it – hand me that crytex kit and I can give you a definite answer.”

“Excellent!” Winston wasn’t what one would call a normal sort of…employer? Colleague? Truth be told, Gwen wasn’t really sure what to call him.

Recruiter, maybe – he’d recruited her, along with at least a half dozen other scientists and students alike, possibly more hidden away. And he’d put them all to work in a glorified warehouse that might have, at one point, been a military base. No contracts, no time cards, no…evidence of their employment to be certain, but they were paid, they were given room and board, and they got to research their hearts out with some of the best technology Gwen had ever laid eyes on.

The fact that Winston was a gorilla didn’t really faze any of them. The fact that he could probably beat all of them combined on any number of IQ tests didn’t really faze them either – although some were admittedly a little jealous.

Overwatch was gone. Or so she’d been told. They learned about it in school, one section of an enormous history book, a chapter of history that professors pointed to as a stern warning about taking things too far. Society advanced, sure – but any good scientist needed to be aware of the inherent folly of heroism. Professor Landston was adamant about that one. “Making the world better is one thing,” he said. “Having the gall to assume you _know_ what’s better…that’s dangerous.”

What was more dangerous than _that_ , Gwen mused over long nights spent alone in her room, was the possibility of vanishing off the face of the earth. Fear was a powerful thing, just as powerful as curiosity, and both had prompted her to reply to Winston’s email. She’d had a lengthy trip with McCree – Jesse; she corrected herself – during which he’d explained what was going on while being maddeningly vague with details. And judging from the sparkle in his eyes, he enjoyed every minute of her frustration.

But once the jet ramp opened and she’d seen the facility, any irritation she had with him melted away into frank astonishment. She had no idea where they were – and given the equipment lining the walls, it was someplace she should have been well aware of. And then McCree introduced her to Winston, tipped his hat and took his leave. She hadn’t seen him since.

“You can still say no,” Winston reassured her with a curiously gentle smile. “But I’d like you to listen to me first.”

Overwatch was gone. But it wasn’t forgotten, especially not by the people who’d once fought the hardest for that brighter world. And as Winston explained what was happening, what he was looking for, what was expected of her … in the end, she couldn’t really turn him down. Overwatch may have had a dirty reputation in the history books, but the fact of the matter was that when the world needed it the most, Overwatch was there to protect and defend. In today’s world, protection was a much sought after commodity.

“According to the readout, it worked all right. Like a charm.” Gwen eyed the results of the experiment with satisfaction – they’d each been working separately on this one for the better part of four months. It was deceptively simple, impossibly small, a carefully cultivated piece of nanotechnology that – in theory anyway – would rapidly replicate itself, forming a temporary, mostly impervious cybernetic barrier on an open wound.

Gwen didn’t really want to think about how it would be applied. Or who would need it, or what they would have to do to be that severely wounded. “You know, Doctor Ziegler probably already knows how to do this. In her sleep – isn’t this her field of expertise?”

Winston nodded absently, peering at the results over her shoulder, glasses threatening to slip from his face as he read. “Not just knows – she’s done it before.” He picked up the test tube with a delicate, gentle hand that no longer surprised her – she’d seen how he worked. More importantly, she’d seen how he watched, ever observant, whenever he made one of his rare appearances at the facility. “It was one of her first successful breakthroughs, in fact. I didn’t realize you were familiar with Mercy’s work.”

Gwen might have had a comment or two on that observation – after all, it wasn’t like they’d been given anything to do in off time, and the computer Winston affectionately called Athena was in fact pretty forthcoming with information if you asked politely enough – but there were more pressing things to address. Like what he’d just said. “Wait. She’s _done_ this before? This isn’t _new_? If she can whip up a batch of these things, why are—“

“She’s not here. She’s out in the field.”

“Right, but I know you’ve got the tech here to just clone these things.”

Winston flashed a smile and a knowing look in her direction, snapping the sample tank shut and sealing the prototype away. “We don’t really need them. It’s good to have a backup, though.”

“—if you didn’t need it, then why—“

“—we needed,” he continued, “To see how _you_ work. _If_ you work.”

Gwen lifted her chin, eyes sparking. “If we’re smart enough, you mean.”

He shook his head, the smile widening. “I already knew that. But this—“ Winston gestured at the research station, “—this isn’t about being smart. It’s about how you apply yourself. And you’re good, Gwendolyn. You’re the first one here that’s managed to figure it out on your own. We don’t just need bright minds – we need bright minds that can adapt. Minds that aren’t afraid to look beyond what we already know. The end result here isn’t important – this wasn’t about the end result.”

“…you wanted to see how I made it happen,” she finished slowly. “To see if I took the same steps.” At his nod, she tilted her head, peering at the console. “And did I?”

“Not even close. Took you a little longer than she did, too.” Gwen cringed inwardly, but any self-criticism was halted by a gentle hand on her shoulder and a reassuring squeeze. “It’s fine, Gwen. Fast isn’t necessarily what we need. New – now _that_ we need. Innovation. And looking over these schematics … I think you’ll do just fine.”

 

 

* * *

 

_One month ago_

 

 “What’s Talon?” Gwen asked innocently, folding her arms in her lap and fixing Winston with an expectant stare. Early morning sunshine streamed in from the stretch of bay windows, illuminating the research bay and leaving half the consoles unreadable in the glare.

The object of her inquiry froze, and then collected himself, pulling off his glasses and giving them a casual cleaning before answering. “Where did you hear about that?” Winston asked, carefully repositioning the frames on his nose.

“Athena told me. And you didn’t answer my question,” Gwen pointed out.

He shot an accusatory glare over his shoulder at the nearest console. “Athena…” The console flickered to life at the drawn out mention of its name, heedless of the irritation in Winston’s tone.

“Miss Hartford passed qualifications for priority access level four clearance yesterday,” Athena chimed, her voice as calm and melodic as ever, “Priority access level four clearance includes access to all recorded notations regarding her acquisition, and that of her colleagues, both of which Miss Hartford accessed last evening. This includes mention of Talon, although specifics regarding the organization require priority access level eight or higher.”

Winston flashed Gwen an apologetic smile. “You heard her. It’s – ”

“Winston,” Athena interjected.

He ignored her. “—classified information. I don’t th—“

“Winston,” Athena repeated. “Given Miss Hartford’s involvement, I advise—“

“—think,” Winston continued, throwing another glare at the console, “That you need t—“

“—Winston. It is ill advised to keep your trainees uninformed.” Athena smoothly interrupted a third time. Gwen watched the exchange with quiet fascination as the console continued. “If Overwatch wishes to continue utilizing their efforts, they should be aware of the dangers of this association. The Petras Act –“

“—all right, all right,” Winston huffed, glowering at the console. It chimed pleasantly and dimmed, leaving Winston and Gwen alone. Absently rubbing his temples, Winston gave a heavy sigh and directed a long look at Gwen. “Look. I’ll tell you what you need to know. But—” He held up a warning hand, “—that’s not going to be _everything_. 76 will have my head if I tell you everything. And before I tell you anything, I need you to promise me that once we’re done talking about this, that’s the last time you’re going to mention them. To me, to Athena, to anyone. Deal?”

“Deal,” Gwen slowly replied. “In the report, it said they were targeting us. _All_ of us.”

Winston nodded unhappily, shoulders slumped. “That’s what we thought – it was the only lead we had. Talon…they’re a terrorist organization. Criminals. And they’ve got a long history with Overwatch – long enough that they survived after its disbandment, and they’re still active today.”

“But _I_ wasn’t Overwatch,” Gwen protested. “I mean…not before you brought me here. None of us were. We’re just scientists, it’s not like any of us are trained for—”

“—for combat?” He finished her sentence for her. “You’re right. You aren’t. None of you are. And we’re not certain Talon is responsible, but they’re the only group still active, the only ones with any kind of global agenda, and the only ones capable of abducting that many people.” He glanced back at the dimmed console with a frown as he spoke. “We don’t know why. We do know that the abductions haven’t stopped, and none of the missing scientists have been found.”

“But why would they—“

“We don’t _know_ ,” He answered before she could finish the question, plaintive frustration etched on his face. “Ordinarily I’d assume they wanted weapons technicians, but the people they’re kidnapping – they aren’t weapons specialists. They’re geneticists, engineers, medical specialists…we don’t know what they’re planning. A bioweapon, a plague, something we can’t just send a team to shoot down, maybe. Or maybe they’re just building their own team of people capable of bolstering their defenses, like what we’ve got you working on here.”

“…you said they’re still taking people,” Gwen bit her lip, glancing out the bay window.

“They are.” Winston turned his attention back to her. “And you _know_ they are. Athena told me you had her filter your news feed solely to missing persons reports three days after you arrived.”

“I thought you were protecting us.”

Winston sighed behind her. “We are, Gwen. We’re doing the best we can. We’ve only got so many people available for active duty. We can’t be _everywhere_.”

“Then how can you really call it protection?”

“We’re doing the best we can. Look…I understand where you’re coming from. But Overwatch…what we’re doing is _illegal_ , Gwen. And until the world sees reason, we need to keep a low profile. We need to stay hidden.” Winston readjusted his glasses and huffed another small sigh. “If we brought every scientist in the world under one roof, we wouldn’t exactly be hidden anymore, would we?”

Gwen swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, unwilling to look at him. “So…so what, you pick the best ones you can for yourself, leave the others behind for Talon to just pick off one by one—” A warm hand on her shoulder interrupted her, and she dropped her eyes to her lap. “They took my roommate. From college. Three days ago.”

“I…I’m sorry. I promise you, we’re doing everything we can.”

“You’ll get her back?”

“We’ll get all of them back. If there’s a way to do it, we’ll figure it out.” He squeezed her shoulder, though whether it was to reassure himself or her, he couldn’t really say.  “Until then, I need you focused on your work.”

“Because _that’s_ a big help.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her tone, the warmth of Winston’s hand vanishing in the wake of it. It was replaced by his shadow as he loomed over her, his expression one of gentle, fierce resolve as he spoke.

“What you do – what you _all_ do – means that we can keep doing what _we_ do. Our field agents are already using the tech you’ve put together. Don’t ever, _ever_ think you aren’t helping, Gwen. When I said we needed you, I meant it. None of you are on the front lines, and it’s not just because you aren’t trained for combat. It’s because we need you _here_. Where it’s safe.”

“Winston is correct.” Athena chimed abruptly, startling them both. “Sustained injuries in field missions have decreased forty-five percent since the integration of nanobiotic technology in armor, while mission success rates have increased by sixty-six point four percent due to increased accuracy and overall health. Field team stamina and morale have also increased; percentage immeasurable.”

Winston smiled. “See? If Athena says it, it’s true. She can’t lie.”

“Incorrect. Systems are capable of deception.” Athena replied. “However, that protocol is reserved for emergencies.”

“Thanks, Athena. Any other statistics you want to add?” Winston snorted.

“It has been four days, twelve hours and thirty-six minutes since your last cardio workout,” the console chimed, flickering in a manner that Gwen decided was smug. She bit back a laugh despite herself as Winston abruptly turned off the console. “Take the day off, Gwen. You’ve got the clearance – access level four now. Why don’t you head to the lower levels?”

“What’s in the lower levels?”

Winston grinned. “Tech that puts what you’ve been working with to shame. You’ll see. Go on.”

 

* * *

 

_One week ago_

 

Gwen watched the sea below her room, a cool breeze playing with her hair. It was a beautiful view, from a beautiful balcony attached to a beautiful room outfitted with everything she could have ever asked for, and then some. She didn’t know where the research facility was located, and Athena was no help on that front, insisting that the location needed to remain secret. Isolated.

None of the other scientists seemed to be bothered by this in the least, far more interested in cultivating new technology for field agents and medical staff alike. And, truthfully, she shouldn’t have been bothered either – after all, she had everything she could ever ask for, right at her fingertips. She had plenty to keep her mind occupied, and Winston still stopped by every few weeks to check in on everyone, noting their progress with both pleasure and pride.

And every time he returned, he always brought a wealth of equipment and parts, supplies and special requests. Johnson got the cookies he’d asked for, procured from somewhere in Europe, and Durand got the French perfume she’d requested. There were plenty of books, some of which were definitely for research, but there were always some trashy fantasy novels especially for Estelle and Gristom.

She could smell _her_ special request from the balcony, the faint floral aroma mingling with the sea air. He never asked her why she wanted flowers; he just brought them as she asked – chrysanthemums and carnations, lilies and occasionally fresh herbs, exotic specimens she’d never seen before from places she’d never been.

Gwen pivoted, wheeling her way back into the room and eyeing her latest request with fond regard. The roses wouldn’t last long – they never did. But for the time being, in a facility full of white walls and sterile instruments, at least one corner of it smelled like life.

“Athena.”

“Yes, Miss Hartford.” The console in her room abruptly flickered to life at the mention of its name.

“Why was Overwatch disbanded?”

“The Petras Act –“

Gwen frowned at the roses. “—I _know_ about the Petras Act, Athena. I don’t want to know about that. I want to know what made it _happen_.”

“That information is classified to priority access level ten and above.”

“Who has access level ten and above?” Gwen asked, suddenly irritated. “When do I get it? How long do I have to be here?”

“Miss Hartford, your heart rate and blood pressure are both higher than recommended levels.”

“Answer the question.”

The console blinked, almost in quiet contemplation before answering. “Priority access level ten is restricted to founding staff members and authorized personnel. The science and research developmental facilities and staff are not eligible for access clearance.”

“Why?”

“Information at level ten clearance or higher is classified.”

“How long are we going to be here?” Gwen moved to the console, grabbing the keypad and pulling up the latest news feeds. No missing persons – just a flurry of news reports about unidentified heroes seemingly intent on shutting down various crime rings, the reporters dancing around the one word they didn’t want to say. Overwatch.

“I am unable to answer that request. Miss Hartford, I recommend you try to calm yourself. I have access to several meditative exercises—”

“Damn it Athena, when do I get to go _home_?” She demanded, instantly regretting the outburst. Athena recorded everything – she was sure to get some kind of talk from Winston the next time he returned. Gwen abruptly pivoted, resisting the urge to slam the balcony doors, and hesitated with one hand on the panel, staring up at the night sky. The moon shone high overhead, stars twinkling almost as if mocking her for her frustrations.

“Miss Hartford,” Athena began, her voice so concerned that for a moment Gwen thought perhaps there was really a person behind all the wires, “…do you wish to withdraw from the program?” She sounded almost…hurt at the very idea.

The truth was, Gwen was no longer sure _what_ she wished. The facility had the most advanced technology she’d ever seen. It was a place where dreams could, in fact, become reality – and they were all encouraged to do exactly that. And she couldn’t deny that Overwatch wasn’t making some kind of difference, although progress was slow – the news had less reports of crime, replaced by pundits bickering over the advantages and disadvantages of vigilante activity.

But there were days when she woke up, looked around the little room, outfitted with everything she ever needed, and wondered if any of it was in fact what she wanted.

“Miss Hartford?” Athena gently pulled her attention back to here and now.

“…no,” she finally replied. “I’m fine.”

“Readings indicate that you are not, as you put it, “fine,” Miss Hartford. Would you like to discuss your concerns?”

“Athena…” Gwen stared up at the moon, trying to relax her rattled nerves. “…what good is helping the world, if you aren’t allowed to live in it?”

The console blinked repeatedly as it processed her rhetorical query, unable to answer.

 

* * *

 

Gwen awoke, cold. Moonlight filtered in through the door, the scent of cherry blossoms heady and nearly overwhelming. Frowning, she rolled over to examine the clock – 3am. Of course.

Hanzo, as he called himself, hadn’t wasted any time taking her requests. New equipment was arriving daily, the servants he’d assigned to her had been just as hastily reassigned, her room immediately kitted out with everything she needed to start the day on her own. Her eyes flitted to the ceiling, papered delicately in soft colors, rich wooden beams bisecting the bedroom he’d declared hers – not that she had much of a choice.

She asked him where her chair had gone. He told her it was far too unwieldy to bring along, and that he’d provide a suitable alternative to the simple one she’d been given when she first woke up, asking for exact specifications and assuring her he'd provide her with whatever she asked for. _Without_ , his eyes told her wordlessly, the tracking software that he doubtlessly knew had been installed on the one Overwatch had her using. He provided her with a datapad to take notes on while waiting for the equipment to arrive - but it didn't have a comm connection with the outside world. Exactly what she needed, no less, and no more.

Everything _about_ him was exacting, precise, thorough – he seemed willing to bend to her every comfort.

And yet beneath it all, there was a coldness that wouldn’t go away. He was kind to her, as kind as he could be given the circumstances, but he certainly didn’t seem to have any kind of emotional investment in her well-being.  Each interaction gave her the vague, fleeting impression that she was nothing more than an exhibit, an exotic bird or trained animal. Once her habitat had been fully outfitted, she would perform as expected.

A bird in a gilded cage – a very pretty cage, but a cage nonetheless.

Gwen rubbed her face with both hands, increasingly aware that no matter what she did, she was – as McCree would put it – “Right screwed.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Gwen firmly resisted the urge to squirm, eyes locked on the console and the never-ending crawl of code. He didn’t make a sound – he never did when he walked, not unless he wanted to be heard – but she could always tell when he entered the room by the telltale crawling sensation at the back of her neck. She supposed it was meant to unnerve her, a silent reminder of how dangerous he could be, if he wished it.

So she ignored it, and ignored him. Partially because there was work to be done and, two months in, she was just beginning to gain some leeway into his peculiar, yet admittedly fascinating request.

But mostly because it irritated him. Two could easily play the game he wanted to play. And if he wanted to try that hard to unsettle her, she’d give it right back.

Ah, there it was. The soft, telltale hush of silken fabrics over her shoulder, a deliberate indication of movement, and an attempt to garner her attention. Eyes glued to the screen, she tapped away at the keys, unwilling to give him the acknowledgment he was looking for. But she could feel the warmth from his body just over her left shoulder; hear his quiet breaths as he silently observed her. Eventually, one of them would have to break the silence, and eventually, one of them did.

“Miss Hartford.”

“I thought I told you to call me Gwen,” she replied absently, scrolling back through the code and frowning when it didn’t magically produce the particular piece she was looking for. And then to her surprise he leaned in far too close for comfort, one bare and uncomfortably muscular arm dropping over her left shoulder to point at the screen, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke. “Any progress?”

She stiffened in her chair and he immediately pulled away, folding both arms over his chest and regarding her with that unnervingly calm expression, tinged with a hint of quiet satisfaction at the notion that this was a battle he’d won.

“A little.”

“A little?” He arched one damningly perfect brow, staring past her to the screen. “Miss Hartford, on paper you should have untangled this dilemma a month ago.”

“Did you factor in the forced imprisonment?” She meant for it to be a flippant question, but it came out far too bitter. His perfect expression faltered slightly in the screen’s reflection, and for a moment she thought she saw what might have been a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “No,” he replied coolly. “But I had hoped –“

Gwen waved a dismissive hand in his general direction and returned to the screen and her typing, not bothering to reply. To her surprise, he didn’t turn on a heel and leave – instead, he pulled over a chair and sat next to her, at a careful and respectful distance, arms folded his arms on the table while he watched her work with rapt curiosity.  “What is it you are missing? If there is something I can help –“

“—you can’t _help_ ,” she heard herself say, keenly aware of her own clenched teeth and generally frustrated disposition. “You aren’t a programmer, nor are you a scientist, nor are you familiar with any of these equations and frankly, neither am I and it’s currently taking all my concentration to unravel them so if you don’t mind I’d really rath—“ His hand covered her own, gently moving it away from the keypad and patting it once before drawing away. “Miss Hartford. Look at me.”

And, like a surly, unruly child, she did, turning the chair just enough to face him and raising her eyes briefly to meet his. Stern but far from angered, his eyes flicked from her own to the console and back again, and he sighed. “Perhaps I ask too much of you.”  
  
Gwen eyed him with wary suspicion. It wasn’t at all what she expected to hear, which meant, in her experience, that he was somehow lining her up for some kind of trick. A trap. But his next words stopped her thoughts short.  
  
“Perhaps I should return you to your facility, then, and find someone more suited to the task.”  
  
A flare of wholly unreasonable anger threatened to overwhelm her. “No.”  
  
“No? You wish to continue?”  
  
“Yes,” she sullenly replied.  
  
Silence reigned as he watched her, poised and patient like a serpent, waiting for her to continue her sentence. But she didn’t. And to her surprise, he smiled. It was small, devilish thing, but it was there, and did little to reassure her. “Then tell me what it is you are looking for," he said, the very picture of boundless patience. "What you have found. Perhaps in the explanation, you will find an answer.”  
  
Gwen automatically opened her mouth to protest, thought twice and closed it, turning to stare once again at the console in thoughtful regard. He had a point. "It's...look, everything I've been combing through here - the omnic files you've given me, these programs? They're all the same thing," she began, idly scrolling through lines of code, "It's like any program out there. You shut it down, transfer it to storage and it doesn't run until you tell it to run again."  
  
"Stasis," he said. She shook her head, tangling a hand through her hair. "No, not...not precisely. It's just a program. You stop the program, you store it, and then you start it up again when it's in the correct place. Piece of cake. But that's computers, that's not...that's not life. Or consciousness."  
  
Gwen's thoughts trailed back momentarily to the day he'd asked her, in all earnestness, for the solution to this puzzle. She thought back then, foolishly perhaps, that it could be done - after all, she'd told him, anything was possible. And perhaps anything was possible, but this was so far out of the scope of anything she'd ever imagined that she wasn't certain she could accomplish it. Not with the limited resources she'd been generously provided.  
  
"The human mind - when it's done, it's done. You can't just...reboot a person. A mind might seem like a computer, and they're very much alike, but you can't flip a switch and turn it off and back on. That's why you don't see brain transplants like you're describing."  
  
She glanced in his direction. He was tensed, but lost in his own thoughts, staring blankly at one of the scrolls on the far wall and paying her little regard. "You can replace the parts," she offered. "People do that all the time. But that's because it's a part. Like...like this screen. Or the keypad. It might stop functioning, but the computer is still running, right? The difference is that with a manufactured program, it's created with the capacity to be rebooted right from the onset. Programmers didn't initially set out with the intention of creating artificial life; they just wanted answers and assistance. So they slapped together fail safes to ensure that even in the event that the program was halted, it could be restarted with no damage done, unless the code itself was completely destroyed."  
  
And there was the problem, the connection she couldn't find, what she'd been trying to unravel for two weeks or better to no avail. "But that's a manufactured program," she said gently. "With the human brain, you lose that and it's...gone. We didn't manufacture ourselves. There's no fail safe. That's why people turn to cyberization rather than what you're suggesting - you can replace the parts that need replacing, but keep the brain intact and functioning so you don't interrupt..." Gwen trailed off.  
  
His expression hadn't changed, but his hands were clenched, the muscles in his arms coiled rigid and taut. "...Hanzo?" She said quietly, trying to catch his attention. All at once he relaxed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye and keenly aware he'd been observed.  
  
She had at least three dozen questions running in her mind, but she didn't get the chance to ask before he spoke. "Mondatta. He did not...reboot, as you say."  
  
"No. He didn't."  
  
"Yet he was not human," Hanzo pointed out, then stabbed a finger at her screen. "If all these programs are the same, as you say. What is it you are looking for?"  
  
"A connection." Her fingers flew to the keys, bringing up several other windows, each with their own dizzying array of code. "A key. Something. There's something in each of these programs, there has to be. A...a command line, an encryption, I don't know what." She rubbed both hands over her face and through her hair, resting her neck on the back of her chair and staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "They're mass-produced omnic code. Mass-produced omnics don't think, they just perform as programmed. Maybe that's the difference. I...don't know. I just..."  
  
"Why did you tell me no?"  
  
She blinked again, startled. "I'm sorry, what?"  
  
"When I said perhaps I should return you to your facility. You said no. Immediately." He watched her like a hawk, expression unreadable.  
  
Gwen fell silent, her eyes darting back to the console. And before she could blink he was leaning over her again, swift and silent and pressing the power button, the screen going dark before she could protest. "No distractions," he murmured, settling back into his seat. He steepled his fingers, dark eyes pinning her firmly in place. "The truth. Just that."  
  
"Are you Talon?"  
  
It was something she'd considered since the first day he'd revealed himself - scientists were disappearing. This man had a peculiar use for scientists, and there was nothing to indicate that she was the first, or only person he'd kidnapped. But the offer he'd given her - to return her to her home, unharmed - it didn't fit into the puzzle.  
  
There - a telltale flash of utter and complete confusion on his face, gone in an instant, melted away into studied calm and cool disdain. "Have I been cruel to you, Miss Hartford? Have I once, in your time here, harmed you?"  
  
"N-no," she whispered, suddenly afraid.  
  
"Do you think I have no honor? I, who have provided you with every resource you asked for? Seen to your every comfort?" He rose to his feet, quickly pacing the length of the room and back again as he spoke, voice rising steadily with every word. "Do you really think so little of me that you equate my actions with a group of filthy, common terrorists?" Gwen frantically shook her head and he leaned in, towering over her and seething with barely-suppressed rage. "Talon are honorless _cowards_ ," he spat. "They play at ruling the world. They take the lives of innocents with pleasure. I ask again, Miss Hartford, _do you think I have no honor?"_  
  
He stabbed a finger at her and she flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and waiting for a blow that didn't come. She cracked one eye open, only to see guilt-stricken eyes staring back at her, wide with abject horror. "My apologies, Miss Hartford," he said, voice laden with shame and regret. And then he turned on one heel and headed for the door, faster than she'd ever seen him move before.  
  
"Cherry blossoms." He froze in his tracks, straightened his shoulders and glanced back at her, clearly perplexed. "The facility didn't have a garden," Gwen shrugged. "If I'm going to be kept somewhere, at least here it smells like flowers."  
  
Hanzo watched her, a veritable kaleidoscope of emotions slowly playing over his face, and Gwen filed them all away one by one. Once more he approached her, calmly this time, and took hold of the chair. "Come," he said, as if she had any choice in the matter. He silently wheeled her from the makeshift lab through a maze of narrow hallways, each nearly identical in appearance. At last, they opened into a much larger room, one she'd never seen before, but he gave her no chance to look around, instead heading for an open archway.  
  
On the other side...paradise. Gwen stared up, transfixed by layers of overlapping branches coated in soft blossoms, hints of radiant blue sky barely visible throughout the thick canopy.  
  
Green grass rolled down a gentle hill on one side of the courtyard, cut through with carefully constructed stone paths and, to her delight, a little stream that trickled next to the path and into a narrow pond. Small fish swam just below the surface, flashes of white and gold, orange and calico that occasionally rose and licked the water's surface in soothing ripples.  
  
"I have been a terrible host, Miss Hartford. I should have shown you to the gardens long ago." Hanzo's voice came from behind her, rough with solemn guilt. "Please, forgive me."  
  
He wasn't apologizing for the gardens, and she knew it. A cool breeze shook the branches above, sending a flurry of blossoms dancing on the wind, and she reached up to catch one in her hand, turning the fragile thing over in her palm. "I thought they didn't last this long."  
  
"At one time, they did not. And they were more beautiful for it." He took a seat on a narrow bench, watching the wind play about the branches with a mixture of fondness and sorrow.  
  
"There were festivals when the trees bloomed, every spring. There are still places where they bloom once a year in the traditional fashion, in the country. But technology advanced, and many thought it would be better to change the sakura - genetically enhance it. Now the cities are overrun with blossoms from spring through fall."  
  
"You don't agree." Gwen cast curious eyes in his direction. He shook his head. "They should not have tampered with it. It is...unnatural. There are many who agree - even those that once supported the decision now regret it."  
  
"Why? I mean, economically speaking you'd think more festivals would be-"  
  
"It is not about economics, Miss Hartford." He stood, reaching up to break off one of the smaller branches in his hand. "...if you had the thing you most desired, you would no longer desire it. A fleeting taste is treasured more than endless days of the same feast." He looked at the flowers in his hand, then placed them in her palm. "And the most beautiful things are those that are fleeting - to look upon them every day is to lose the sense of wonder that such a thing could ever exist."  
  
Gwen watched the fish play in the stream, silently considering what he said. "It was your tattoo," she said finally, catching his undivided attention. She pointed at his shoulder, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to her cheeks. "The dragon. Dragon's claws - talons, I thought...I'm sorry."  
  
"Ah," he breathed, the beginning of another small smile curling his mouth. "Very astute, Miss Hartford, but in this case...it is merely the mark of my family, nothing more." He gestured at the courtyard, glancing up at the sky. "Truly, they had no gardens, no greenhouse at the facility?"  
  
Gwen shook her head, and his eyes flickered with quiet sympathy. "I come here often to think. If you wish to use the gardens for the same, please let me know, and I will have it arranged for you."  
  
She shouldn't have been grateful. But after nearly a year spent in one facility or another, the chance to breathe fresh air and be someplace that wasn't surrounded by sterile instruments and computers felt like ...well. A breath of fresh air. "Thank you."  
  
They sat in companionable silence for some time before he finally rose to his feet, indicating she should follow. "Come. The hour is growing late, and perhaps we can discuss this problem of yours further over a fine meal."

* * *

  
  
  
One week later, Gwen sat once more before the console, staring at lines of code in the faint hope that somehow, some way, they would unravel themselves. But there were no secrets to be found. There was nothing she could do. And she dreaded telling him, because telling him meant leaving the quiet home, built with solid, polished wood, the tranquil garden, the trees and open sky beyond.  
  
And it bothered her that it bothered her as much as it did.  
  
Suddenly, she felt the familiar prickle up the back of her neck that signified his entrance. Scrolling through another line of endless code, she gave no indication that she'd noticed, waiting instead for the familiar sound of his voice.  
  
"Miss Hartford."  
  
"I told you to call m-" Once more he leaned over her, bare arm casually draped over her shoulder, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke. "I have brought you a gift." And just as suddenly he withdrew, leaving the smallest flash drive she'd ever seen on the desk before her.  
  
Gwen resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead popping the drive in the computer and pulling up the contents, flashing him the briefest of glances before turning her attention to the screen. "You know, most women appreciate flo..." The jab died in her throat as code bloomed to life on her screen, the color draining from her face. "Where did you get this," she asked, hushed.  
  
"As I have told you before, many times, Miss Hartford...I am owed many favors."  
  
_By who? Who are you?_ A litany of questions raced through her mind, and for the first time, she was reasonably certain she didn't want to know. It wasn't a puzzle she wanted to solve. And the man she was currently stranded in a room with, in a home on an island in the middle of nowhere, was quite possibly the single most dangerous person she had ever met in her life.  
  
For there, on the screen, was the operating code for the program that once called itself Tekhartha Mondatta.


	4. Chapter 4

Tekhartha Mondatta was dead. Shot down during an appearance at King's Row, assassinated on a night that was intended to be a unifying moment for humans and omnics, and instead turned into chaos. Attempts had been made to revive him, but they'd all failed. And to some, this was all the proof needed to establish Mondatta's claims that omnics, like humans, possessed souls - for his had clearly moved beyond the realm of the living. 

For others, it only intensified the animosity between human and omnic. There were those among humans that claimed Mondatta deserved it, for having the audacity to suggest "it" was alive. There were omnics who saw this as a clear sign that they needed to strike out. King's Row instated a statue in Mondatta's memory, and according to news reports, anti-omnic graffiti was constantly being removed from the base.

It was a blow that shook the world. News reports of human and omnic conflict constantly referenced the day Mondatta died as the catalyst for nearly all of it. 

And on an evening nearly three months after her kidnapping, Gwendolyn Hartford was on the brink of untangling the puzzle of Mondatta's life and death. His code was startlingly, utterly beautiful, a work of art. If Mondatta was the product of an omnium, Gwen had to wonder just who they had employed to create this kind of advanced logic.

No. Emotion. It wasn't just logic sitting in between all the ones and zeroes, it was once a living thing, capable of independent thought, reasoning, self-awareness on a level that nobody had ever seen before. And when he died, he was simply at an end. Was that a result of that self-awareness and reasoning, or was there a command line somewhere, cleverly hidden away?

She hadn't quite figured it out. But there was another step to the process, one that she was hesitant to even bring up, given Hanzo's general reticence when it came to matters of omnic programming. He seemed fascinated by Mondatta's curious death, fascinated by the idea of parallels between human and omnic consciousness, but when it came to omnics themselves, he didn't seem to care for the idea one way or another, decidedly neutral on the topic. 

It was with this firmly in mind that Gwen found herself in the gardens - a place she was eternally thankful for - staring up at the full moon between the trees and wondering exactly how best to broach a subject she was certain he didn't want to talk about.

He slipped into the gardens as silently as he moved anywhere else. Originally Gwen assumed he was trying to get the better of her, gain some kind of advantage, an intimidation tactic. But since his casual delivery of operating code he most definitely was not supposed to have, Gwen had other suspicions. A man who moved that quietly moved that way for a reason. And it was foolish for her to assume that it was simply for her sake. 

No, this was a man who moved quietly his whole life - he acted in silence because he was trained to act in silence, she was sure of it. Just as she was sure that whatever family that beautiful tattoo on his shoulder signified, it wasn't the warm, friendly kind of family you found at the park on a pleasant spring afternoon. 

"Miss Hartford. It is a pleasant evening, is it not?" He gave a polite bow, and took a seat upon the bench nearest her, watching her with avid curiosity. "Have you -"

"-made any progress? Yes and no. I think he...it. The programming. I think it's starting to make sense. It's just a little dizzying to stare at all day." She flashed what she hoped was a pleasant enough smile. 

Hanzo glanced from her to the sky. "And so you come to the gardens to clear your mind. Perhaps the rabbit will give you the answers you seek?"

"The rabbit?"

"In the moon. There-" Hanzo pointed, tracing the shadowy shape of a hare from the moon's shadows, then shrugged with a half-smile. "It is an old child's tale. The old man of the moon came to the world, disguised as a beggar. He asked the monkey, the kitsune and the rabbit for food. The monkey brought fruit, the kitsune captured a fish, but the rabbit could find only grass."

"What happened?" Gwen asked, watching him curiously. 

This was, oddly enough, the most relaxed she'd ever seen him. For once, the façade of solemn, stern calm he usually carried was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by a quiet, bemused serenity as he spoke. "The rabbit was very sad that he returned with empty hands. "I apologize, for I have brought you no food - but with this grass, you can build a fire," the rabbit said. Once it was built, he threw himself into the flames, offering himself as a meal." He held up a hand at Gwen's slightly horrified expression, silencing her before she could speak, and went on. "But the old man of the moon was impressed by the rabbit's kindness, and pulled him from the flames. "Ah, good rabbit, do not sacrifice yourself for my comfort. Instead come home with me, and I will watch over you and make sure you are never harmed." And that is why he lives there today, you see." His expression faltered, sliding its way back to stern resolve.

Gwen wasn't about to let him get there. Not yet. "Some people say the moon is made of cheese," she said. 

There - confusion, but more importantly, more of that serene amusement. "And why would they say such a thing, Miss Hartford? It seems that a rabbit is more plausible."

"It wasn't...well originally it wasn't that at all - it was an expression for someone who wasn't terribly bright. There was an old story about a fox and a wolf - the wolf wanted to eat the fox, but the fox tricked the wolf by telling it there was a well nearby full of cheese."

"A well of cheese?" His brow arched even higher. Gwen bit back a laugh, shaking her head. "It was a trick - the 'cheese' was the moon's reflection in the water. So when the wolf went after the cheese-"

"It fell in the well and was drowned." He finished the sentence for her, eyes twinkling. "A clever fox indeed."

"It's a silly children's tale, though. That's the only one I know about the moon." 

"There is only one other I know of," Hanzo softly said, his expression faraway. "My father used to tell me the tale, when I was young. An old bamboo cutter came across a shining stalk of bamboo, and when he cut it, he found a tiny child. Since he and his wife were childless, he brought the baby home to raise as their own. After that, he found gold in every stalk he cut, and the family was soon rich."

"Like Thumbelina?" Gwen suggested. Hanzo shook his head. "No - they called the girl Kayuga-hime. She grew into a woman of exceptional beauty, and tales of her beauty spread far and wide. Eventually, five princes came to ask for her hand, so she sent each on an impossible task."

"...why would she-" Gwen began, but Hanzo held up a hand. "You have not let me finish the tale, Miss Hartford. All five princes failed their tasks, of course, and went away. Then the emperor himself fell in love with her, and she denied him as well. Every night she stared up at the moon - just as you do now - and her eyes would well up with tears. Filled with sadness, Kayuga-hime told her parents she was not of their world at all - she was of the moon, and was destined to return to it, although the thought made her sad. And although her parents and the emperor tried to stop her, she left as was her duty, and returned to the sky."

"That's...not a happy ending," Gwen frowned. Hanzo half-chuckled, shaking his head. "Tales do not need to be happy, Miss Hartford. But the tale of Kayuga-hime didn't end there. She left a letter for the emperor, and a small taste of the elixir of life, so that he would live forever. He wrote her a reply, and bid his messengers climb the tallest mountain and burn it so that it would reach her - and burn the elixir of life as well."

"Why?"

"Because he did not wish to live forever, if forever was without her," Hanzo softly replied. "Some say that is how Mount Fuji got its name - the word for immortality, what the emperor gave away."

"Like the sakura," Gwen said suddenly. He blinked, pinning her with a peculiar look. "I beg your pardon, Miss Hartford?"

"Things are better appreciated when they're fleeting. Like you said. Even life?" At the explanation, his eyes widened appreciatively, then narrowed, the sly smile widening. "Perhaps it is you who are clever, Miss Hartford, more so than the fox."

Gwen bit back a laugh, shaking her head, and steeled herself - this was the best mood she'd ever seen him in. "Not quite clever enough," she began. As if sensing the sudden change in subject, Hanzo automatically tensed in response, slipping back into the stern repose she was far more familiar with seeing. "It...the program, I mean. Unraveling it only goes so far. I need more...information."

"Ah," he said, brisk and businesslike all at once, rising to his feet. "What is it you require? I'll have it delivered at on-" He stalled out at the wave of her hand and shake of her head. 

"It's...it's not something you can have delivered. It's something I need you to provide," she said quietly. That captured his undivided and intense attention. "Look," she began, gathering her nerves despite his unwavering, piercing stare. "-the Mondatta files, they're beautiful and complex and I could study them for years at this rate. But the files are one thing. If...if you want me to do what you're asking, I need a comparison scan. Not an omnic," she clarified. "I need a human to compare it to. I need...well I need to look at-"

"Ah," he said again, so quiet she could barely hear it, and glanced up at the moon, his expression softening. "You wish me to throw myself in the fire."

"N-no," Gwen shook her head, attempting her best reassuring demeanor, "No it wouldn't hurt you, it's not...it's just a scan. That's all. I wouldn't be doing anything harmful to you. I just...if there's a link between the two, then I need-" 

"-then you need to see the keys behind both. I understand." Once more, those unnerving, dark eyes turned on her, glittering in the night shadows. "I will provide this thing for you, Miss Hartford." Once more he flashed a smile, rueful and tinged with a bitter sadness he couldn't hide. Not from her. "So long as this is not a ruse to send me after cheese in a well."

"I promise. It won't even hurt. Just a simple scan, and you're done. All it'll show me is brain activity - so your secrets are safe."

"You think I have secrets?" He crossed his arms, peering down at her with surprise. 

"I think everyone has secrets, whether they like to admit it or not."

Hanzo sank down to his seat on the bench again, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. "You would not be wrong, I think." He looked back up at the sky again, growing quiet, and she could see the emotion shift on his face, like a series of masks he switched when needed. "When I was a boy, I told my father I would travel to the moon and marry her. Kayuga-hime."

"You didn't really think she was _real_ , did you?" Hanzo's eyes darted to her, surprised. Gwen bit back a laugh, shaking her head. "Moon princesses, _really_?"

"Do you not believe in legends, Miss Hartford?" He asked quietly.

"Of course not. Fairy tales are just stories, meant to frighten children or teach them lessons. Make believe to make people believe that things are better than they are. Might as well say unicorns or fairies or dragons are real - it's all just stories. Stories aren't _real_." She turned her chair back down the narrow path. "-it's getting cold, I'm going back inside. Come by the lab tomorrow and I can set up that scan - there's a piece of equipment that came in last week, should do the trick." With that, she wheeled her way down the garden path. 

He hadn't turned her down, which was a good thing - or at least she tried to reassure herself it was a good thing. The truth of the matter was that the closer she got to an answer, the more uncomfortable she felt. Nothing seemed quite right, there was something she was missing - and it wasn't in the code. It wasn't in the programs, it was him. There was something he wasn't telling her, and the longer she worked for him, the more she wondered if this was what he really wanted. 

If beauty was in fleeting memories, what was the point of manufactured immortality? His hair might be going silver at the edges, but he was far from old. And he didn't look like he was sick, not in the least. So why spend all the money, call in all his so-called favors for a request that he didn't seem to need? He was dangerous, she reminded herself - and perhaps he had his own favor he had to fulfill. Gwen crossed the threshold into the relative warmth of her temporary home, no less confused than she'd been since this experience began. 

Had she turned around, she might have seen his eyes follow her, the bemused smile on his face slowly fading to contemplative calm in the light of moon.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The scan itself didn't take terribly long, although Gwen was particularly pleased with the opportunity and excuse to actually ask him questions. "Just to get all parts of the brain firing for the scan," she told him. At first she just threw some logic puzzles at him, most of which he answered with alarming alacrity. Then she threw in some questions about his daily routine and memory - what he'd had for breakfast the day before. When was the last time he went to a movie theater and saw a film. Did he have any pets growing up, what were their names. 

And just as he was getting comfortable, she went for the jugular. 

"When did you get that tattoo?"

There was an abrupt break in his rapid-fire answers, the creak of leather from the chair as he either sat up, or simply lifted his head. She felt his stare on her, but didn't look away from the screen, ever-so-professional. And definitely not intensely curious, oh no, not at all, purely in the name of science.

The leather creaked again as he settled back down, coming to his own conclusions. "When I came of age," he replied.

A safe answer. A good answer. And as the screen lit up in a sudden frantic flare of rapid brain activity, Gwen resisted the urge to smile. "You said it was the mark of your family, wasn't it?"

Another pause. "Yes," he replied. "I do not see-"

"-I'm getting some good readings." That stopped his protest, but she could hear his heavy sigh. "Go on," he told her.

"Does it have a history? I know some people have family crests and the like -"

"Yes, it has a history. No, it is not a family crest. And I believe, Miss Hartford, you should ask something else." She cringed just a little, peering over the screen and meeting his hardened gaze. Gwen ducked her head in silent apology, one that he just as silently accepted, and went back to the readout. 

"...where did you grow up?"

"Far from here." There went that flurry of activity again, persistently urging her to keep up the line of questioning. She didn't dare look over the screen, afraid of meeting angry eyes. 

"You...don't like talking about yourself at all, do you."

The leather creaked again. "Perhaps I should be asking _you_ questions, Miss Hartford."

At that, she glanced up. He was staring directly at her, his expression unreadable, one arm draped across his chest, the other dangling off the chair, lazily sprawled on the furniture like a cat. "For example, why did you leave Altean?"

Gwen swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, cheeks flushed with heat, and dropped her eyes back to the screen. An entirely different, new set of readings were slowly unfurling. Fine. He wanted to play games? She could play games.

"We had a...difference in opinion."

"Oh?" His brow arched, a slow smile curling in the corner of his mouth. "And what kind of difference would that be?"

"I was of the opinion that I'd been hired as part of their research and development department." She looked up, meeting his eyes dead on in silent challenge. _Go on. Dare you._

And he bit, brow furrowing. "And they were-"

"-of the opinion that I was a test subject."

He sat up abruptly, puzzlement and anger both flashing across his face in kind. "Explain." Gwen answered the barked command by gesturing at her chair. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he caught her meaning. "But your work, Miss Hartford. You pionee-"

"-I did. And they liked what I came up with. Another team was working on some R&D for nanotech to regrow limbs. And hey, would you look at that, they had a kid who had a couple legs she wasn't using, so..." She trailed off, glaring at the screen, perversely satisfied with the readout. It was good, even if the memory was sour - and she could remember it, all of it. 

They told her she was in line for a promotion. That's what got her up to the office. And when she arrived, they told her what the conditions of that promotion were. And when she told them where they could _shove_ their conditions, they got angry. Oh, did they ever get angry. 

She wheeled herself out of that meeting and right out the front door, dropping her security badge on the way. It would have been nice if they'd left it at that - a difference in opinion, nothing more. But there was no way she was going to get a good recommendation out of them. She submitted dozens of applications elsewhere, each turned down in kind. 

And when she was at her lowest, they called her. Asked her if she had reconsidered their very lucrative, very fair offer. She remembered how badly her hands had been shaking when she hung up on them, when she realized what was really going on - they were tanking her career. Deliberately. And nobody really seemed to give a shit about it, or about her in general. 

It wasn't until the first attempted break-in that she realized just how intent Altean was at getting its way. The second was more persistent, and she had her locks changed, called the police, tried to tell them what was going on and got nowhere. Altean wasn't just a corporation, they were everywhere, controlling every aspect of that city - it was easy enough to see if you took the time to look. Unfortunately, nobody did. Or if they did, they certainly weren't around anymore to tell anyone about it. 

It took four moves across four countries before they stopped chasing her. It took a good six months after that to realize _why_ they were so persistent, and another two months of self-imposed exile before she felt safe enough to venture out of the house again.

"I'm...sorry." The words, softly spoken, broke her from her reverie, and she glanced up from the screen and met his eyes. This was a dangerous man, she reminded herself. A dangerous man with dangerous eyes, warm and dark and full of compassion and not a single ounce of pity, not a drop of it to be found, and it would be too easy, all too easy to fall into those eyes and spill every last secret she had.

Gwen looked away before she could, tucking an errant strand of hair behind an ear and returning her attention to the screen. "-it was years ago," she said briskly, keenly hoping for a change of subject. 

He wasn't about to let her have it. "Your...condition," he persisted, his voice maddeningly gentle. Gwen heaved a sigh, leaning back in her chair and eyeing the ceiling, waiting for the inevitable. 

And he didn't continue. Blinking, she glanced back over to where he sat. He shook his head. "No. It is not my place to ask. My apologies, Miss Hartford."

Warily, she looked back to the screen, suddenly uneasy. That...was not how this conversation was supposed to go. None of this was how the conversation was supposed to go. "When you say you grew up far from here," she asked suddenly, grappling to regain control before he could question her further. "How far was it? I mean, somewhere else in Japan, a different countr-"

"Miss Hartford," he countered, perfectly agreeable and not at all argumentative as expected, patiently explanatory if anything at all, "If I tell you where I am from, you will know that it is not here. I find myself...unwilling to reveal any hint of our location, in the event that you-"

"Then give me your name."

"You know my-"

"Your full name," she insisted. "Unless you're some kind of superstar that d-"

"-no. I had a last name. I renounced it." Gwen looked up, startled at the revelation and gratified to see another new pattern of activity blink to vivid life on the screen. He wasn't looking at her, staring up at the ceiling instead, tense and tired all at once. 

"...why?"

"That," he said, rolling his head to the side and flashing those dangerous eyes in her direction again, "Is a question I will not answer. I believe you have enough readings, Miss Hartford." He reached for the sensors at his temple, clearly annoyed.

"When I was a kid." His hand stopped its movement, left the sensors where they were. Maybe she had enough readings, maybe she didn't, but Gwen was entirely unwilling to let the conversation end. Hanzo sat up, arms draped across his knees, curious. "My legs. I had a hard time learning to walk, they noticed, they did some testing, and somehow I managed to inherit one hell of a set of genetics." Gwen's eyes dropped back to the screen, where a new set of readings were suddenly flashing to life. "-crutches, braces, the works, and one day I woke up and couldn't move them at all, so then...the chair." She shrugged. 

"They did nothing more for you?" The sheer amount of astonishment registering in his voice was laughable. Gwen tensed, a sudden surge of bitter resignation flaring to life, one she'd long since quashed. "-oh sure, throw the kid in medical testing, get her some artificial limbs, just slap on some cybernetics. The orphanage had _loads_ of money lying around to do that." She couldn't help the icy sarcasm creeping into her tone, but every word she spoke caused a new chain reaction of readings on the screen, so she forced herself to keep speaking, eyes glued to the screen. "-look, it was a bunch of kids nobody wanted crammed in an orphanage in the low-income sector of a city that had already been ravaged to hell and back by the omnics. One kid with bum legs and no parents isn't exactly high on the priority list for generosity, okay?"

"...Shimada." Gwen glanced up, startled, and felt a sudden flush rise to her cheeks. He inclined his head, gracious and calm, but kept his gaze on her. "-my name. It was Shimada. Hanzo Shimada. I grew up in Hanamura. It is...far from here." His lips curved into a thin smile at her surprise. "Information for information, Miss Hartford."

"...a bargain?"

"Perhaps."

Gwen thought this new bit of information over, choosing her words carefully before she spoke. "I just gave you a _lot_ more information than you gave me," she pointed out. 

They stared at each other in a silent standoff that was only punctuated by the quiet hum of the computer and occasional beep of the scanner as it located a new readout. "Tell me then, Miss Hartford," he finally spoke, canting his head slightly, "What is it you wish to know? My past? If I am to be trusted? If I speak the truth?"

"I'm not looking for anything, I just...want something to think about that isn't this," she said finally, glancing back to the screen at last. It wasn't quite the truth, but it wasn't really a lie, either. "Something new." The computer gave a satisfied chime, and she wheeled over to him with a resigned shake of her head. "It's fine. Scan's done. I got what I needed." Gwen reached for the sensors she'd attached to his head, and nearly jumped out of her skin entirely, breath catching in her throat as his hand snapped up and grasped her wrist, holding it up and away. "Miss Hartford," he said, leaning in almost painfully close to stare directly in her eyes, his voice low. "...I did not bring you here to be bored. A brilliant mind such as yours should be challenged."

Oh, two could play this game. Gwen stubbornly refused to look away. "Then _challenge me_."

He pulled the sensors from his skin, wincing where one had caught in his hair, and turned her hand upwards, carefully placing them in her palm. He folded her fingers over them, patting her hand once before rising to his feet, still watching her with close regard. "I will think on this," he said at last. "How long will it take?"

"Will...what - oh, the scan? I don't know. I won't know until I've started it - check back with me tomorrow." 

Hanzo inclined his head, heading for the door. At the entrance he paused, glancing over his shoulder. "-what?" She asked, suddenly flustered. He said nothing, merely smiled that sly smile and walked out, leaving her with her frustration, little information, and...a name.

_Shimada_. Well, it was a start. 

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later, she felt the familiar prickle up the back of her neck and ignored it. Not out of any perverse wish to irritate him, not this time - no, it was because what was currently playing out on the screen was far too fascinating to look away from. Initially she wasn't sure a side by side comparison of a comprehensive brain scan and what was essentially an advanced operating system would really reveal anything, no matter how elegantly that program was constructed. 

But it was working. Impossibly well, the two pieces lining up and correlating in ways she'd never dreamed were possible. And as she watched the synchronization slowly blossom on the screen, she quietly despaired for the loss of something that was, she was convinced, a life. 

"Miss Hartford."

"-you have a funny interpretation of the word tomorrow," she said absently, and didn't even flinch when he leaned over her, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his face and cutting shadows across his skin in the wan light of dusk. "Fascinating," he murmured, although whether he actually understood what was happening or not, she couldn't really say. Maybe he was just engrossed in the light show. It was certainly entertaining enough.

"Have you learned anything new?"

"Mondatta was smarter than you." 

Gwen bit back a smile at the sudden and indignant removal of his presence at her side. "If it's any consolation, he was smarter than...just about anyone," she added, turning to face him at last. "-I don't know who designed him, but I can't...really imagine anyone who would have been smart enough to design something Iike this. Genius level programming at _least_."

"And the scan?" He asked, intently watching the screen behind her. 

"Working as intended." She couldn't keep the satisfaction from her voice if she tried. This may have been one of the oddest situations she'd ever been in, but at least she got some kind of sense of accomplishment out of it. At his gesture to go on, she turned back to the screen, pointing at the blossoming pattern in the corner. "There. See that? It's doing a side-by-side of the two of you."

"To find the common link?"

Gwen shook her head. "To find the opposite." He frowned, puzzled, and she tapped the screen for emphasis. "What you have in common isn't important here. What's important is the command line - whatever it was that authorized Mondatta to shut down permanently. The piece that overrides what all the mass-produced omnics do automatically. Restart. You don't have that. You weren't programmed. He was."

"And if you find this...command?" He asked, puzzlement replaced by raw curiosity. She'd never seen him like this. Eager, hungry for information. It was charming, in a way. 

"If I find it, then I can see how it worked for him. Take it apart. Create a failsafe - the kind we weren't born with. And then...well then you'll have what you're after, I think. Or at least something very close to it." Gwen rubbed her face with both hands, suddenly tired. "...it's going to be a while before this finishes up, though."

"Perhaps an evening of sleep is in order," he suggested. She shook her head, eyes dancing with amusement. "I'm afraid both you and he are _far_ more complicated than that. Try a few days."

"Days." He mulled this over, then nodded agreeably enough, his expression shifting to something she was beginning to recognize as pleased satisfaction. She didn't see it often. "Good. I have been thinking on your request, Miss Hartford."

"My request?" For the life of her, Gwen couldn't remember making one. 

"I believe," he began, his voice dropping almost an octave and drawing her attention from the screen to him, "You requested that I challenge you. Give you something other than programs and puzzles to think about."

She swallowed nervously. She had, at that. "...and you've come to some sort of conclusion?" she managed to squeak out.

He started to smile. It was wholly unsettling. "There is a festival in town this week."

That brought her up short. "And this applies to me...how, exactly?" A wary tendril of hope threatened to overwhelm her, and it very nearly did at his reply.

"We shall go. After all, you are on the brink of a most remarkable discovery. Such perseverance should be rewarded. And there are far more sakura out there for you to see. I am afraid this is less of a challenge and more of a distraction, however. I hope this will be enough to satisfy you, for now?"

She nodded mutely, unable to think of anything to say. People. Actual people, in the real world, with real shops and festivities, open air and...

"What's the catch?" Gwen asked, abruptly wary. 

"No catch, Miss Hartford. A few conditions. You will remain with me. You will act appropriately. If you try to alert anyone -"

"-I won't. I promise. I _swear_." Gwen glanced at the screen, then back to him. "I...want to see what this comes up with. Couldn't do that if I ran off, could I?"

The answer seemed to please him far more than she thought it would. "One more condition, Miss Hartford." His eyes danced along her frame, sending another faint chill crawling up her neck. "Your attire is hardly suitable for a festival. You will allow my servants to dress you appropriately. Without complaint," he held up a hand as she opened her mouth, scowling - but nowhere near as harsh as she expected. "If you agree, we'll leave in the morning."

"In the morning," she agreed. How on earth could she say no? He leaned over and pressed the power on the screen, abruptly leaving the room in semi-darkness. "...rest, Miss Hartford."

"Is that an order?" 

"Consider it...a wise suggestion." With that, he left the room as quietly as he’d arrived.

She couldn't exactly argue with that, either...although whether or not she'd be able to sleep, that was entirely up in the air.


	6. Chapter 6

To her surprise, the clothing change Hanzo requested wasn't ridiculous at all - just an exceptionally soft, comfortable cotton robe and a sash that the two women deftly wound round her waist and tied in the back. They took great care with the back of it, making sure whatever they were doing wouldn't be uncomfortable in the chair, quietly chatting with each other every now and again in what Gwen presumed was Japanese.  Once that was finished, they put a pair of completely unnecessary sandals on her feet - not that she was going to be doing any walking - and began working on her hair.

When they were done with that, they politely wheeled her in front of a mirror to inspect it all, and she just as politely smiled and thanked them both. She didn't wear her hair up very often - it was long, wild, and belligerent at best most days - but they managed to tame it into a few soft knots at the base of her neck, and worked a few flowers into the mix. The overall effect was pretty enough, she supposed, and not at all uncomfortable. Already in good spirits just due to the fact that she was allowed to go outside, Gwen wasn't at all unhappy with the woman reflected in the mirror. It still looked like _her_. A slightly more refined her, but her nonetheless. 

And that was when they pulled out the blindfold, politely indicating she was to wear it.

Which was why she was currently sitting in a car in darkness, supremely annoyed and unaware of her surroundings. But she was keenly aware of Hanzo's presence beside her as she impatiently waited to arrive at wherever their destination happened to be.

"You know, the blindfold _really_ wasn't necessary."

A short huff of air from her right was enough for her to divine that her irritation amused him. "It is for your own safety, Miss Hartford."

"Do you really expect me to somehow figure out how to get out of that house and just wander the streets of a city in a country I've never been to? Come on, Hanzo. You know I'm smarter than that." 

"Perhaps I would like the destination to be a surprise," he offered.

 _Perhaps you just like being a gigantic pain in the butt,_ she silently retorted, but didn't say a word, letting the silence fill the car instead. "Are you comfortable?" He asked, clearly trying to nudge her into conversation. 

"Yes, this is fine - you said this was a festival we're going to? Anything special?"

The soft chuckle from her right took her slightly off-guard. If she didn't know better, she'd say he was in a pleasant mood. But then given her progress with the task he'd assigned her, he ought to be pleased, she hoped. "Festivals are always special, Miss Hartford. Plenty of food, performances, and people - many, many people. Tanabata is particularly busy. I hope you do not mind large crowds."

Faint music and the chatter of crowds were loud enough to filter through the car's windows, and the car stopped, evidentially at their destination. "Crowds aren't really a problem for me," she said, and nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden brush of fingers at her temple. Another warm huff of breath answered her startlement, not quite a laugh, easing her nervousness. "If you wish the blindfold removed, I suggest you sit _still_ , Miss Hartford."

Several hours later, Gwen was very, very happy that crowds didn't bother her. The city - and they were in a city, one with impossibly tall buildings and signs she couldn't read plastered all over the place - was crammed full of people. And it was almost immediately apparent why he'd asked for the wardrobe change, as nearly everyone who wasn't in costume or uniform was running around in the same style of outfit she was. So, in fact, was he - while he wasn't in a robe, he'd still opted for something that covered both shoulders. It was slightly more formal, some kind of large, decorative bow and quiver strapped to his back as they made their way through busy streets and gardens. 

He obediently stopped for everything she wanted to look at. And there were a lot of things to look at - trinkets and clothes, games and processions. The processions and performances both weren't as interesting as she'd hoped - not because of the acts themselves, but because it was so hard to see. With so many people crammed in such a small area, the most she could hope for was a glimpse of the tops of floats as they made their way down the crowded street. 

But that didn't really matter in the long run. What mattered was that there were other people around, finally. Hundreds of people who were flat out enjoying themselves. And although she didn't understand a word any of them were saying, just the pleasant din of so many clearly happy voices was enough to lift her spirits. 

Somewhere midday they meandered their way into the gardens, just as full of people as the main thoroughfare, but most were sprawled out on blankets laid in the grass, leaving the walkways slightly less congested and the noise level a little more conducive to conversation.

"What did you call this again? Tanbata?"

"Tanabata," he corrected from behind her. At his advice, they'd left the larger chair at his home. Once they were there she had to admit it was a good idea - trying to maneuver anywhere in the crowds would've been a nightmare. Much easier for him to simply navigate them both through the throngs of people. "-some also call it the star festival, easier to remember, perhaps."

"What's it about?" Gwen asked. The smell of yet another collection of food stalls and the din of chattering voices wafted in from over a nearby hill. 

"A celebration for another legend you do not believe in, Miss Hartford, although I believe it would be of particular interest to you."

Gwen narrowed a glare back in his direction. Hanzo's eyes danced with quiet amusement. "The tale of a woman who worked too much, Miss Hartford."

He was teasing her. "A scientist?" She quipped, marveling at the cherry blossoms high overhead.

"A weaver." Hanzo deftly wove them through the crowds, making his way to one of the tents and purchasing some grilled bit of something or other on sticks along with drinks, handing them over for Gwen to hold as he searched for somewhere at least somewhat removed from the din to eat. "-Orihime," he continued at last, settling on a low bench in a shaded alcove just off the path. "She was very beautiful, and very good at her work."

Gwen paused between bites of food. "Was she from the moon, too?"

Hanzo shook his head, pointing at her food. "No. Eat, Miss Hartford." She thought about arguing with him, but the chicken was far too good not to devour. "She was the daughter of the Tentei, the King of the sky. She loved her work, but she was sad, for her dedication to her work meant that she would never meet someone and fall in love.  Her father was worried for her, and so he arranged for her to meet Hikoboshi, a cowherd who lived across the river."

"A river? I thought you said-"

"A river of stars, Miss Hartford. The Milky Way. Or was astronomy not one of your studies?" He teased. Gwen shut up and let him go on. "-they fell in love, of course, and were married. But they were so in love, so enchanted with each other that they neglected their duties. Orihime no longer wove cloth for her father, and Hikoboshi let his cows roam wherever they wished. And in his anger, Tentei separated the two-"

"-but he was the one that arranged for them to m-"

 _"Separated the two,"_ he repeated sternly, giving her a warning glare, "and forbade them to meet. Of course Orihime was saddened, and begged her father to reconsider. Tentei was moved by her tears, and said that if she worked hard at her weaving, and Hikoboshi as dutifully at herding, he would allow them to meet on the seventh day of the seventh month."

"Just one day?"

"Just one day," he confirmed. "But when they tried to meet, Orihime and Hikoboshi were separated by the river. Orihime cried out in sorrow, and the birds heard her cries and came to help her. They formed a bridge over the river with their wings so that she could cross, and the two lovers were reunited at last."

Gwen mulled that over while Hanzo quickly ate, watching the passersby. "So today is the seventh day of the seventh month," she said finally. He nodded once, rising to his feet and taking control of the chair again, navigating his way back towards the city streets. "One day out of the year is a little harsh."

"Ah, but the work keeps one busy, and the waiting makes the day _better,_ Miss Hartford." 

She supposed, given how long she'd been restricted to one place or another, carefully cloistered away from the rest of the world, that she couldn't really argue with that.

 

 

As the sun dipped low and disappeared beyond the horizon, the crowds gradually started to clear out. It wasn't quiet by any stretch of the imagination, but at least it was a little easier to duck through the narrow streets. She had no idea where they were, having long since lost herself in the sights and sounds of the city around her, but he seemed to know where they were going.

He'd offered to purchase her any number of souvenirs throughout the day, but she systematically turned them down one by one. Not because she didn't want them, but because all it did was remind her of their bargain. Everything she ever wished, for the one thing he apparently wished for most of all.

"Would you like to make a wish, Miss Hartford?" Gwen blinked, for a fleeting moment concerned that he'd somehow read her mind, but he wasn't even looking at her, pointing ahead at an alcove of bamboo absolutely dripping with brightly colored bits of paper that fluttered merrily in the breeze. "There, you see?"

"Those are...wishes?" There must have been hundreds of them. And as she looked at them more closely, she realized what he meant. Each piece of paper had something written on it, in a variety of different languages - she picked out the few English ones easily, but there were some in German, a few in what looked like French. "Another tradition?"

Hanzo didn't answer her, merely finished writing on his own piece of paper, stretching to affix it to one of the taller branches and studying his handiwork with satisfaction. "What did you wish for?" She asked quietly. He shook his head, handing her a scrap of paper in a color that reminded her of the cherry blossoms in the quiet gardens. 

"Think of a wish, Miss Hartford. Write it down." He waited patiently for her to finish scribbling on the paper, then pulled another branch of bamboo down low enough for her to attach it herself, adding it to the existing throng. Hanzo glanced at the paper, gently lifting the branch back into place and pinning her with a puzzled stare. "Understanding, Miss Hartford? A curious wish."

"Hey, you won't tell me what yours was. I'm not about to explain mine." There was part of her that hoped she could provoke him into revealing whatever it was he'd written down - and there was part of her that was fairly certain she didn't want to know. 

Despite the pleasant scenery, the fact that he'd been kind to her all day - relaxed and at ease, translating for her where necessary, explaining the various points of interest - he was still her captor. He wasn't her _friend_ , she sternly reminded herself. He was certainly the most _polite_ kidnapper she'd ever met, but he still abducted her. And he did so right under the nose of Overwatch, which meant he was really good at that kind of thing. 

And maybe this was all a part of it - something to lull her into a false sense of security. Of safety. This wasn't a noir film, nor was it a fairy tale - this was simply her life, and it was currently in the hands of someone else. 

Somewhere while she was lost in thought, he resumed his place behind the chair, quietly navigating them down less busy streets. "Wait," she said, pointing at a lone stall that hadn't quite closed up for the evening just yet. There, in between a litter of other trinkets and toys, were a row of perfectly preserved flowers. Upon closer inspection she realized they weren't flowers at all - they were delicately crafted from glass. "There," she pointed at a collection of cherry blossoms glinting beautifully in the lamplight, "I'd like one of those, please."

"Just that?" Hanzo glanced curiously from her to the flowers. Gwen lifted her chin, fixing him with a stubborn glare. "You said I could have anything I'd like." 

He didn't argue, although he spent a good minute or two selecting one, and another minute or three haggling with the stall vendor while he wrapped the purchase in tissue paper. Gwen took the bag, carefully unwrapping the piece as he continued to navigate down the street. "Thank you," she said finally, twisting the delicate stem between her fingers. 

"I could have the servants bring in blossoms from the gardens, if you wished it," he commented. They paused at a street corner, turning down an even darker street mostly devoid of people. 

"They'd die. I'd rather they didn't. Besides, this will last forever-" she glanced back over her shoulder, but he was paying her little attention, eyes fixed on the sky ahead. "-although I guess that isn't th-" Her words died in her throat as the sky high above them suddenly burst into an explosion of color and sound, lighting up the quiet street. Stunned, she watched as another array of fireworks flared into life. "Oh..."

A laugh from behind her interrupted her reverie. "The car will be here in an hour," Hanzo said, "-but the fireworks are bright enough to be enjoyed from anywhere."

"Thank you," she said again, feeling slightly guilty for letting her suspicions overtake what was, truthfully, a very nice day. He didn't reply, just kept his eyes glued to the sky and enjoyed the show. And just like clockwork, those suspicions slowly kicked in again. Why, she wondered, had he stolen her away - why put all the effort into kidnapping her when it was clearly obvious he had enough "favors," whatever those might be, to hire anyone he wished? Gwen spun the glass flower between her fingers, watching the light of the fireworks dance off the petals. Greens and blues, golden yellows and brilliant reds-

-and the glass flower shattered in her hand. She didn't scream, it was more of a startled yelp of dismay, but it was enough to snap Hanzo's attention from the fireworks to her, eyes darting over the shattered remains clasped in her fingers. "It just brok-" she managed to get out before he abruptly spun the chair out of the way. Shots rang out, peppering the street where they stood - but they weren't there anymore. 

Gwen clutched the arms of the chair for dear life, heart pounding as he propelled her down the street and around the corner, abruptly tucking her behind a car. "Stay there," he ordered, swearing under his breath and drawing the bow, scanning the rooftops above them.

 _Oh god. Oh god that isn't ornamental, it's a weapon and he's going to use a damned bow and some arrows against a-_ She couldn't think, could only watch him, wide eyed, as he fired off a rapid series of shots, ducking behind the corner and trading arrows for bullets as the sniper kept up the stream of fire.

And then the ringing sound of bullets stopped. Hanzo was hardly breathing harder than usual, eyes darting from the rooftops to the terrified woman behind him. "They are finding a better location," he hissed under his breath. "We will not be here when they find it. Hold on, and remain quiet, Miss Hartford."

"But-" she didn't get a chance to finish before they were off again in a dizzying race against whoever was hunting them down - they were being _hunted_ , she realized, heart in her throat - and effortlessly darting around a maze of corners and alleyways. Above them, the fireworks continued to blossom and bloom, each explosion masking another rain of fire at their heels. Gwen stifled another startled yelp as the chair jerked to a halt - and before she could fully register it Hanzo scooped her out of the thing and into his arms. "Hold on," he snapped, breaking into a full out run.

"You can't fire like this," she gasped. Behind them, the chair shattered into pieces, riddled with another spray of bullets, quickly lost as he darted around yet another corner. He ignored her, the alleys and streets flying by them both - and swore as he nearly rain into another hail of gunfire. "Down," he barked, lowering her to the pavement. _"Stay down,"_ he repeated, standing over her and staring down the street. 

 _I haven't got a choice,_ she screamed internally, eyes locked on the building ahead. "There!" She pointed - five stories above in the building just across the nearest cross street a red light flickered, and she realized with dawning horror that the light was trained on his chest. But he didn't move. "Stay _down_ ," he snarled again, standing tall and strong with open defiance and little regard for his own safety, teeth bared and arrow trained on the building ahead. "Ryū ga waga teki wo _KURAU!"_  

Gwen buried her face in her arms with a terrified sob as the street virtually exploded with light and a sudden, violent gust of wind, terrified that at any moment he'd come crashing down on top of her. But the blow didn't come, just a deafening, unfamiliar roar. Trembling, she lifted her head, her eyes widening in horrified wonder.

Dragons weren't _real_. 

And yet twin blue bodies, scaled and glowing with ethereal light spiraled down the narrow alley. Impossibly large, impossibly clawed, impossible bodies twining together as they bore down on the target in unison. Gwen looked up, wide eyed in astonishment to where he stood, teeth still clenched and panting, his tattoo bared and alight with a blue glow that trailed, impossibly, to the impossible creatures that shouldn't, couldn't exist. 

 _Dragons aren't real,_ her mind screamed, but her eyes answered, aglow with every piece of evidence to the contrary - _Oh, they are. And they are_ terrifying _._

"H-h," she managed. It was the least intelligent thing she'd ever said. It was also the only thing she could manage to spit out. Hanzo kept his eyes locked on the building, the light slowly fading as his...pets? Minions? Triumphantly descended on their prey. And then his gaze dropped to her, finally, taking in her open-mouthed astonishment and unmitigated terror, one perfect brow arched with almost absurdly calm amusement.

"Still doubting legends, Miss Hartford?"

 _"Who are you?"_ She whispered.

Before he could answer, a shout from further down the street caught his attention. He drew his bow, canting his head to the parked vehicles that lined the alleyway, focused on what lie ahead. "...under the car, Miss Hartford, if you please."

She didn't argue, didn't even think twice about protesting, rolling frantically to the left and beneath the relative safety of several tons of parked steel. "Stay there. Quietly," he murmured, then dashed down the street, firing arrows as he ran. Gwen's eyes followed him as he disappeared around the corner, and then all was silent save the fireworks.

Gradually the rest of the world began to register - the uncomfortable scratch of pavement on her palms, the familiar tickle of hair on her neck that had worked its way out of careful twists. Her breath slowed and evened out along with the frantic pace of her heart, leaving her with nothing but the silence of the alley and the deafening roar of her own thoughts.

What did he mean by legends? What were those... _dragons_ , her thoughts automatically filled in, but her mind flat refused to believe it. No. A trick of the light. A holographic display. There had to be some kind of reasonable, logical explanation. Some kind of technology that accounted for what she'd seen. A man didn't go up against a sniper with bow and arrow; they had to be some kind of modified projectile. Something he'd traded yet another favor in for. Cold rationality eased her mind, allowing her to slowly relax and take in the alley, still intermittently lit by the technicolor marvels booming to life in the night sky.

But her heart...

...her heart wanted to believe in dragons, and everything else besides.

Gwen slowly stretched her arms, flexing her palms and wincing at what were doubtless dozens of scrapes from the pavement. He hadn't returned, nor had she heard any more shouting. Everything in the alley was perfectly still, dark fog rolling in for the night. She silently ducked her head from under the car, staring down the alley for any sign of his return, suddenly cold.

There was a quiet click. The cold press of metal at the back of her head. A voice, quipped snarl modulated into something less human, more akin to a dirge. " _Checkmate_."

And then there was nothing at all. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

_Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai plus de feu…_

Someone was singing, haunting and low, a cold wind whistling along with the melody as the world sluggishly came back into focus. Stomach churning, Gwen kept her eyes closed and assessed the situation; her head hurt, she was freezing, her arms were strapped to her sides, her legs dangled uselessly above the floor. This definitely wasn’t the facility. Wait, no, she wasn’t at the facility anymore, she was-

-there was a festival. _Hanzo._ All at once, the vivid memory of twin dragons ethereally spiraling through the sky hit her, and she gasped. 

_Ouvre-moi ta porte, pour l'amour de D-_

The singing abruptly stopped. Gwen opened her eyes, struggling to clear her vision as the soft click of heels on concrete approached her. There, a woman – tall, poured into a fitted bodysuit, blue…was her skin _blue_? Gwen blinked, wincing as the back of her head throbbed in pain and the world rapidly came into focus. The woman chuckled, leaning in to examine Gwen’s face. “Sweet little bird,” she cooed, low and patronizing, “Such a pretty little bird.” She curled one shockingly cold hand under Gwen’s chin, lifting her face and tilting it back and forth, cold eyes sparkling with grim amusement. “I look forward to making you sing,” she breathed, lips twisting into a thin, cruel smile.

Judging from the tone of her voice, Gwen wasn’t going to enjoy it at _all_. 

"Back off." 

The woman glanced up sharply, eyes narrowing, fingers dragging across Gwen's cheek like shards of ice. Gwen's heart leapt into her throat, and she struggled to keep still - that voice. She knew that voice - dark and guttural, modulated into something out of a horror film - it was the last thing she heard before...this, wherever this was.

The two began to argue, and while they were preoccupied she took the chance to get a better look at her surroundings. An office building of some sort, under construction from the looks of it - floor to ceiling gaps in walls for windows that had yet to be installed, and judging from the gusting winds, they were high up. The floors were bare concrete, and the room they were in was more like a tunnel than a proper room, although a few areas were marked off for walls, rooms roughly blocked out with studs. No desks, no furniture other than a couple of tables, a few lone chairs piled in one corner, and the chair she was presently sitting on. Tied to. Not tightly, it seemed. 

"You have your assignment. Get out." The second voice didn't leave room for further argument and the woman - lithe and lean, and very much a peculiar shade of blue that was _not_ a trick of the light as Gwen originally surmised - sniffed, picked up something from the table - a rifle, an exceptionally wicked looking rifle - and walked to one of the open gaps. To Gwen's horror, she simply stepped off the ledge and dropped.

"Gwendolyn Hartford," the familiar voice behind her hissed. Before she could answer, a flurry of black fog twisted around the chair, reforming before her eyes into ...he wasn't a person, he couldn't be, not after that. But he definitely appeared to be one, tall, menacing and utterly terrifying as he loomed over her, clad in black leather and a cloak she would've found laughable were it not for the extraordinary amount of ammunition strapped to his body and the mask. 

Bone-white, somewhere between skull and owl, it completely covered his face - if he had one, she thought frantically - and left her with no way of judging what he was thinking. It frightened her more than anything else. "You keep interesting company, Hartford."

"W-who are you?" 

He didn't answer, just walked away and picked up another gun from the table, examining it and patently ignoring her question. "Nice outfit. Did _he_ pick that out for you?"

"What do you want?" She asked, fingers working quietly on her bonds. They didn't tie them very well. _After all, what can I do if I'm free?_

Gwen recoiled as he rounded on her and abruptly leaned in, the rictus mask bare inches from her face as he simply stared, unseeing. The seconds crawled by and then the mask slowly canted to the side, nodding as if coming to some kind of internal conclusion.

Without warning, the gun snapped under her chin, cold metal digging into her skin, forcing her to crane her neck skyward. "We're going to play a little game, Hartford. You're going to answer my questions. Give me enough answers and I'll kill you here and now."

"Your interrogation tactics are a little rusty," she ground out through clenched teeth. "Not an expert, but I'm pretty sure the threats come when I _don't_ talk." _There. Calm and collected, not at all terrified beyond all reason. Show him your spine. That you have one. Show him and-_

"Keep quiet, and I'll hand you over to Altean." She froze, eyes widening in horror. He nudged the gun harder, pushing her chin higher. "Oh you don't like that. You don't like that at all, do you. Funny thing, Hartford. Didn't come here for you, came here for little lost crime lord. You're just some interesting collateral. Do you know how much they're paying out for your head? _Hell_ of a lot of money," he breathed.

"Crime lord?" Gwen whispered, her heart in her throat. If they weren't after her, then who-

The gun lowered, mask bare inches from her face, and then he laughed. It wasn't a pleasant laugh. It was the kind of laugh she imagined as one of those last things you heard before you died. "He didn't _tell you?"_ He turned on his heel and strode across the room, tossing the gun on one of the tables. "Oh that's _beautiful_. The Shimada clan ring any bells?"

"N-no..." She trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

"Only one of the biggest criminal empires in the country, Hartford. Shimada led it, or he did before he turned tail and fled like a dog." He picked up another gun, turning it over in his hand, fingers twisting round the trigger. "Think I look like a killer, Hartford? The man you've been shacking up with has plenty more kills under his belt. Illegal arms trading, drug trafficking, heard he even murdered his own brother."

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and he watched her reaction, mask tilting this way and that. "Unbelievable." he rasped. "But he didn't have you playing house, did he."

"I don't underst-“

Black fog bloomed, roiling angrily across the floor and reforming at her feet, spiraling around her and coalescing into a hand that tightly gripped her throat, half-lifting her from the floor. _"-where are the Mondatta files?"_ he hissed. Gwen frantically struggled for air, fingers clawing at her bonds. _"Where are they?"_ He barked, releasing his grip. The chair hit the floor, rattling Gwen's teeth. "I don't-"

She didn't get a chance to finish before his foot lashed out at the chair, sending her spinning across the floor and into a nearby desk, nearly toppling the thing. She struggled to clear her head as he strode purposefully towards her, the very picture of death itself, struggled for words, desperately trying to pluck a coherent sentence out of thin air. "I don't know, he didn't - in his house, they're in his hou-"

His foot struck the chair again, sending her careening into a nearby wall. _"Where's the house?"_

"I don't kn-"

Smoke roiled angrily across the room, reforming into a specter of seething hatred and kicking the chair back into the table, spinning along with the room. "Wrong _answer_ , Hartford," he snarled, stalking to the chair and grabbing it with both hands only to push it purposefully towards a gap in the wall, wind howling around them both.

On the other side of the gap, a narrow balcony awaited, thick black bars the only thing between her and her death. "-think of a better one." Gwen felt the chair abruptly tilt forward, a cold hand on the back of her head, roughly shoving her face over the low railing. The city loomed far, far below, lights twinkling like stars beneath them, and she could feel her bonds begin to slip and give way-

 _"Please!"_ She heard herself scream, tears streaming down her face. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the ground rush up to meet her-

The chair tipped back, rolled backwards. Slowly, she cracked open an eye. The mask was right there waiting for her, inches from her nose. "Better question, Hartford." he began with cold calm. "What were you doing with th-" 

He broke off, standing up and snapping a hand to the side of his head, clearly distracted. "No. Not a - then get someone. ...fine, I'll deal with it myself," he snapped at no one. Cold ivory stared down at her with cruel, expressionless regard. "Better think about your answers, Hartford. You two! Get in here." 

He snatched twin shotguns off the table and strode off somewhere behind her. "-keep an eye on her. She gives you any problems, kick her over the side."

She was _expendable_ , Gwen realized, her blood running cold. They weren't there for her. They were there for him. Twin shadows fell over the chair, cold metal roughly prodding her shoulder. Gwen looked up, blankly taking in two armed guards, faces covered by black masks. "You heard him," one of the guards growled. The other nudged the chair with his foot. The minutes ticked by as Gwen tried to process what she'd been told, neither guard paying her much attention, far more interested in the collection of guns on the table.

He was lying. He _had_ to be lying, he was just trying to get information out of her. Yet the haunting memory of strong, capable hands firing arrows with unerring precision at a sniper lurked at the back of her mind. The tattoo, intricately detailed, the mark of his family, he said. What kind of family was he from? 

The clang of metal on metal jolted her out of her thoughts, and she glanced up. One of the guards had taken off his mask and thrown it on the table. He wiped sweat from a comfortingly human forehead while the other looked on in disgust. "Keep it on, Williams." 

"Damn thing's hot."

"What about her?" The masked one cocked his head towards her. The one called Williams stared her down with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. "Her? The hell's she going to do. You heard Reaper, she's good as dead."

He wasn't wrong. Gwen choked back a sob. Even if "Reaper" came back, there was nothing she could tell him. Even if she gave him all the information she had, she was dead, in theory. There was no way out. The cards were on the table, and any reasonable person could see them. Any reasonable person would just give up. 

The masked guard slowly walked towards the chair. "Aw, she's crying. Should've thought of that bef-"

The crack of shots in the distance startled all three of them, heads snapping towards the entrance of the long room. "Go check it out," Williams told the masked guard.

"But he sai-"

"Look at her, think she can take either of us?" Williams snapped. "Get the hell out there before I report you." The masked guard swore under his breath, but bolted for the door, clearly unwilling to face the inevitable wrath of Reaper. 

The room was still, nothing but the wind breaking the silence. Williams watched her with quiet curiosity, eyes narrowed. "What's he want with you, anyway?" He asked, tone conversational, almost friendly. At her stubborn silence, he pushed off the table and slowly walked towards her, thumbing the gun in his belt. "-come on now, you can talk to me. Isn't anyone else to talk to, is there?"

Gwen murmured something quietly under her breath and he leaned in, one hand on either side of the narrow seat, his breath uncomfortably hot on her face. "What was that? Nobody here but us," he pointed out. "Won't hurt to talk, before I get some better ideas-"

She lunged forward, slamming her forehead into his nose and sending him staggering back, one hand on his bleeding face, the other reaching for his belt. "You little b-"

_Click._

Gwendolyn Hartford wasn't really what one would call a _reasonable person_. 

She trained the gun on him, eyes narrowed. "-I'd think that last word over _really_ carefully. Hands up. Where I can see them." Williams swallowed, slowly lifting his hands to his shoulders. "What floor are we on?"

"Fifty-sixth floor, sweetheart. Nowhere to go from here but down and you know it. Now why don't you put the gun down, and just-"

"Been a while since I've fired one of these," Gwen interrupted. "It'd be pretty _painful_ if I miss, wouldn't it? For you, I mean."

Williams eyed her warily, hands still in the air, blood streaming down his face. "You aren't going to get out of here alive, you know. Even if you shoot me, Carson'll be back before you can go anywhere."

"Like right now," came the voice of the masked guard -- Carson -- from behind her. Gwen whipped the gun around, right into Carson's waiting hand. He casually ripped it from her palm, shaking his head and laughing. In the span of seconds she felt the sudden jerk of movement, Williams' hands closing on the back of the chair and throwing it in a violent arc right out the open gap in the wall. 

The world tilted in horrifying slow motion, yawning bright below her, heart leaping in her throat as the gut-wrenching sensation of free fall kicked in. Dimly she registered a high-pitched noise she vaguely recognized as a scream - her own - before all was lost in the wind and the fall, the laughter of both guards following her abrupt descent.

It was only seconds, but it felt like she fell for an eternity before her hand slapped concrete, hard. Gwen clawed desperately for purchase and found it, arm nearly wrenching out of her socket in the process, her body swinging like a rag doll. Eyes wide with horror, she made the immediate mistake of looking down just in time to witness the chair tumbling end over end, quickly vanishing into the abyss below. Her hand hurt, her arm strained, her legs dangled uselessly beneath her, and her heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest entirely...but she was alive.

For a moment, it seemed fate had conspired to grant her a temporary reprieve. It wasn't much of a reprieve, she realized, trying in vain to leverage a hold with her other hand and coming up empty on the narrow ledge. She had minutes at _best_ before her arm gave out on her and she met a thoroughly unpleasant demise. Faced with the inevitable Gwen wondered, almost dreamlike, if her life was supposed to be playing out before her eyes. That's what they always said was supposed to happen, wasn't it?  As if on cue, her fingers began to slip, the narrow ledge crumbling beneath them.

Gwen refused to scream again. If the world saw fit to swallow her whole, then she would go without protest. And as the ledge broke free and her stomach leapt into her throat, heart racing, she wondered if anyone would notice her absence at all, or if she'd forever be a footnote, just another missing scientist on Overwatch's list of absentees.

Before she could finish the thought, a hand suddenly snapped around her wrist from above, jerking her to a secondary halt. Gwen stared up, vision blurry from wind and tears, to see a strong arm emblazoned with a tattoo that only accented the muscle beneath it, to dark eyes, narrowed and far too calm for their current situation. He was suspended midair like an angel; leg and free arm twisted around a thick cable, holding him alight with effortless ease. "I am going to lift you," his voice said, and it was without a doubt the most beautiful voice and the most beautiful words she'd ever heard in her life, rich and warm with the promise of her salvation. "Grab my neck, and hold on."

He didn't have to tell her twice. The moment she was close enough she clung to him like a lifeline, burying her face against his neck and resisting the urge to weep into it. His arm encircled her waist, bracing her against his side. "Do not move," he warned her, arms shifting around her as he drew his bow. 

Shouts rang out below them, and she cracked open one eye to see four more guards, all wearing the same uniforms as Williams and Carson, guns trained on the two of them. 

And then the world exploded in gunfire, Hanzo twisting and firing despite her weight on his neck, taking out each guard in turn, one by one, well placed arrows fired with deadly precision. She watched them drop, disbelieving, one by one to the concrete, half-convinced that this was all some kind of terrible dream. 

His warm voice, tinged with reassuring amusement, told her otherwise. “I distinctly remember telling you to stay _put,_ Miss Hartford.”

“Yeah well they wanted to hang out, how could I say no?” She mumbled into his neck. His chest heaved silently, and she glanced up just in time to catch carefully stifled laughter, a peculiar gleam in his eye – a flash of red on his ear-

“MOVE-“ she managed to spit out, wrenching his neck sideways. Scarlet blossomed along his cheek as a bullet flew by, narrowly missing his head. She stared over his shoulder at their surroundings, looking for the telltale flicker. “Sniper, behind you, third building over by the watertower what are you _doing_?” For he didn’t bother turning around, he just aimed and shot in the opposite direction. Nor did he answer, instead swinging on the cable without bothering to see where the shot headed – and she heard the distinctive ping of the arrow ricocheting from somewhere behind her, flying with unerring precision at the sniper. The telltale light abruptly winked out.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Gwen said. It was, in her mind, a grievous understatement.

“Language, Miss Hartford.” Hanzo replied, and leapt from cable to nearby rooftop, then another, and another, the scenery passing by in a blur of color and light until Gwen could no longer keep track of it all. Nor did she want to. Suddenly tired, she settled for clinging to him as best as she could, closing her eyes and waiting for it to stop.

Eventually he slowed, diving from a rooftop to a lower level of a nearby building through a conveniently open balcony door. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light and their surroundings, although there was little to see – the apartment was unfurnished and empty. Dimly she registered a change in height, the shift of her body as he sat down, settling her in front of him and catching her back when she abruptly tipped over.

Gwen stared up at his face, transfixed by the lines of concern that shadowed the sharpened planes of his cheeks. That wouldn’t do at all. Neither would the bleeding cut from the bullet that narrowly missed his skull. “You’re hurt,” she faintly heard herself say. She meant to lift her hand to his face, and made it nearly halfway before he caught her wrist in his hand, a curious look on his face as he examined her trembling fingers.

“Are you hurt?” Hanzo asked, then asked again, watching as she struggled to reply. And then he looked her over, flipping back the hem of her robe and promptly spitting a litany of soft curses under his breath.

“When were you shot?” He demanded, tearing the sash from his hair. She watched sweat-slicked locks spill over his shoulders like a blackened waterfall, tried to shake her head. “Don’t know,” she slurred with a tongue that had somehow gone curiously sluggish, watching his face as he tied the sash around a leg she couldn’t feel.

She tried to tell him she couldn’t feel anything, but it was entirely too cold. Besides, the world was dimming, and not unpleasantly so. Just a soft blur of darkness around the edges, perfectly framing his face, desperation she’d never seen before haunting his eyes. And for the second time that evening, the world went dark; his voice a gentle murmur as she slipped away, rough and uncharacteristically tinged with raw emotion.

“Gwen…hold on.”


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing Gwen noticed was the silence. It was quiet. Almost unnaturally so, save for the soft hum of a fan from somewhere in the distance. No singing, no wind, no cold - in fact, thinking on it, she was quite warm. Cozy, even. Then she blearily cracked one eye and noticed the comfortable blanket tucked around her. The room was dark, with one lone dim light in the corner. An elegant lamp, from the looks of it. 

And then the events of the last...however many hours it had been suddenly registered in a rush of aches and pains. Her head was still sore. One of her hands throbbed beneath tidy bandages and a splint - she must have broken something during the fall. _The fall._

Gwen opened both eyes, taking in the bed, bookshelves and wall hangings through a haze that slowly came into focus. This was a bedroom, maybe - not her room. It was too dark for her room, and she couldn't smell cherry blossoms at all, just a mixture of leather, tobacco or particularly pungent incense, something medicinal - her, probably. A masculine room, a dark room, no windows, no natural light at all.. 

"You are awake." Gwen rolled her head to the left, too tired really to exert any more effort than that, to find Hanzo sprawled on a plush and expensive leather chair, by all appearances just as exhausted as she felt. The naked relief in his voice and his eyes was almost uncomfortable to look at. She settled for rolling her head back on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling instead. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," she rasped, licked her lips and tried again. "...thirsty. How long have I been out?"

"Several hours. Almost a day." The creak of leather and hush of fabric was just as quietly soothing as the fan. Gwen closed her eyes, still tired. She felt something slip behind her back, lift her - his hand. Cool glass on her lips. "Drink slowly," he warned her. The water was cold, crisp, and a welcome relief. She took small sips, resisting the urge to simply gulp down the whole thing, sinking back into the pillows when she was finished and considering her options. "I believe you have questions," he said, the soft creak of leather indicating he'd seated himself again.

"Mind reader."

Soft chuckle, quiet little series of huffs. "Merely observant, Miss Hartford."

Gwen opened her eyes again. The ceiling was low, lower than expected. No wood beams here, no artfully papered panels. "Gwen," she said slowly, testing the waters. "You called me Gwen. I remember that."

Dead silence answered her, a sudden weight falling over them both. It was odd, she thought. Odd how such a small room, such comfortable surroundings could feel so incredibly tense. "And you held on," he pointed out in return, terse and stern as always. 

"Where...are we?"

A door that Gwen had previously mistaken for a wall slid open suddenly, startling them both, and an elderly man bustled in with a full tray of something she couldn't quite make out. With his presence, the bubble of tension in the air evaporated. He met her eyes and smiled a smile so warm and pleased that she couldn't help returning it, nodding to himself and making his way to the bed, setting the tray to the side and placing a cool hand on her forehead. He glanced back at Hanzo, quietly speaking to him in what she presumed was Japanese. Hanzo - looking far more relaxed and at ease - replied in the same language. The two of them shared a gentle laugh. 

Gwen felt entirely left out, and was about to say something when the elderly man turned back to her, hand under her chin and tilting it this way and that, looking in her eyes with a businesslike air. Apparently satisfied, he flipped back the blanket and tutted at her leg, busying himself with changing the bandage and ignoring her entirely. 

"Hanzo? Who..."

"A friend."

"Is this another favor?" She mumbled. He huffed another quiet laugh, leather creaking as he shifted and moved. "In a way. Hotaka-sensei is a friend. An old family friend, Miss Hartford. This is his home."

The man swiftly finished up his work with her leg, taking her hand and examining the splint. He glanced up, making eye contact and speaking very slowly and deliberately directly to her, shaking an admonishing finger as he spoke. "What...what's he saying?" Gwen was beginning to dearly regret her decision to ignore foreign languages altogether in college. 

"Hotaka-sensei says you are not to remove the splints for at least two weeks. You fractured two bones in your hand, and while he has administered medicine, he is not a magician." Hanzo translated, clearly amused, "...and he says under no circumstances are you to jump from any more buildings, young lady." Hotaka barked a little laugh, patting her side, and addressed Hanzo again, eyes still on her. "Hotaka-sensei would also like to know your name," Hanzo added.

"Gwen," she replied. "You can call me Gwen." 

The old man beamed, patting her side again in response. "Lucky, Gwen-chan," he said, nodding and pointing to another bandage on her arm, one she hadn't previously noticed before. He rattled off another sentence in swift Japanese, although she thought she caught the word Shimada somewhere in the middle of it. With a satisfied nod, he picked up the little tray and made for the door. "Lucky, lucky, lucky," he murmured, carefully sliding the door closed behind him and leaving them in silence.

"What...did he mean...lucky?" Gwen asked cautiously. Hotaka's exit ushered in the return of the tension, along with silence. It lingered over the room like a dark cloud, stretching awkwardly into absurdity. And just when she'd made up her mind that he must have fallen asleep, and she had nearly done the same, eyelids heavy, he spoke. 

"You very nearly did not survive, Miss Hartford." His voice carried the weight of exhaustion. Gwen rolled her head to look at him again - the dark circles under his eyes, the slumped posture, dark eyes watching her carefully, noting her observation. "You lost a great deal of blood."

Gwen considered that, and the little room. "This...isn't a hospital," she carefully pointed out. 

This man had saved her life. He seemed relieved that she was alive. Yet lingering in the back of her mind were two very important things - first, the information she'd been told. If the man they called Reaper was telling the truth, then _this_ man, no matter how generous he was, no matter how worried, no matter how...harmless he seemed just now, was not only dangerous, but ruthlessly so, capable of far more than she'd ever expected.

Second was the bow at his side, well within arm's reach, and the question of whether or not it was there simply because he brought it with him, or because there might come a time in which he'd have to use it. And she'd seen what that bow could do, how easily he wielded it, firing at whim and striking down targets - killing people - with unaffected ease. And she'd seen what his temper was like, flaring hot and bright and sunlit flame in mere moments.

So she danced with her words, wary of that tension and what it could potentially turn into.

“There was little time, Miss Hartford. As it was, you required a blood transfusion. Your wound was…severe.” He gestured at her leg, tucked away under the covers. “You are far from being healed, but Hotaka-sensei was able to stop the bleeding and close the woun-“

“-I’m sorry,” Gwen interrupted, suddenly feeling cold despite the blankets and the general warmth of the room. “D-did you say he performed a blood transfusion? _Here_?” At his affirmative nod, her voice hitched up a half-octave. “Is that even _safe_? You’re supposed to run tests, where did he get-“

“You and I are a match, Miss Hartford,” he cut in curtly, lifting his arm – and then she noticed the bandage, a twin to her own. "I told him this. If we had not been, you would not be here speaking to me now. _That_ is what Hotaka-sensei meant when he said you are lucky. And you should feel lucky, Miss Hartford - you have Shimada blood running in your veins." The matter of fact tone, full of not-so-subtle arrogance and the implication that her lack of gratitude was less than pleasing did very little to calm her. “You could have _killed me_ -“ 

It was precisely the wrong thing to say. Hanzo's eyes darkened dangerously, glittering with barely suppressed anger. "Should I have let them _keep_ you then, Miss Hartford?" 

She knew it was the exhaustion, the unspoken tension in the air getting the better of them both. But the words stung, and she resisted the urge to fling them - or a pillow - back in his face. "They weren't after _me_." 

All at once, the anger evaporated in a flurry of emotions that played across his face like a song. Hanzo went still, considering her outburst with puzzled confusion that would have been humorous at any other time. Probably. "Then what is it they were after?" 

She wasn't really in the mood to answer his questions, far more interested in just how much he knew about her. How much he wasn't telling. "...how did you know my blood type?"

"-answer the question."

"You first."

"You-"

Gwen folded her arms over her chest, glaring. "I nearly _died_ ," she pointed out, setting her jaw and locking eyes with him, a silent challenge and dare all in one.

And had it been any other day, she doubted very much he would have relented. "The information was in your files, Miss Hartford," he answered patiently, although it was clear from his posture and expression that she was walking a very fine line indeed.

"You," she answered in kind. "Or...the files, anyway."

His brow furrowed, mouth twisting into a disagreeable scowl. "The files?"

"The Mondatta files," she clarified, and had the immense satisfaction of seeing that staid, stern expression completely fall apart. "-or at least that's what the one with the mask was trying to find out before his minions threw me off the building."

At that, Hanzo fell suddenly still, head canting to the left just so, watching her with curious regard. "...a mask, Miss Hartford?" 

"That information was _not_ in my files," she pointed out. "...the facility didn't have my medica-"

"-I did not retrieve them from your facility. The mask?"

"Then where? Altean?" Silence answered her. "It looked like a skull, or...I don't know, an owl," she said finally.

"And did this man have a name?"

"What else did you dig up on me?”

“The name, Miss Har-“

“- _no_. No you don’t get a name, you don’t get another _word_ out of me until you tell me why the hell you were digging around in my information like that.” He stared at her in silence, face flushed, fairly seething, but he didn’t reach for his bow.

It wasn't about her blood type, not really. It wasn't even about the transfusion - it was that he'd deliberately withheld that knowledge from her. And if he knew something as insignificant as that detail, then there was no telling what else he'd discovered. And there were things she didn't want discovered - things she didn't need discovered, things that needed to stay buried and forgotten. 

He was very good at getting information from her, and even better at making sure she got next to nothing in return, and it was _infuriating_. 

“You are being a very _disagreeable_ woman, M-“

Oh that was it. Gwen’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “ _Disagreeable? You_ told me if I didn’t agree to your…bargain, you’d return me home, _Mister Shimada_. _Unharmed_. Except from my standpoint you were digging around in my medical fil-“

“-I was n-“

“- _digging around in my medical files_ ,” she hissed, furious now, “Why? Just in case? What were you looking for? Did you _expect_ this to happen?” Gwen gestured at her leg, sitting up a little taller. “Were you _planni_ -“

“-how _dare_ -“

 _“Hanzo!”_ Both Gwen and Hanzo jumped, startled, at the voice from the door. Hotaka had returned, it seemed, with no sign of his good humor. He spat something at Hanzo, and she had the satisfaction of watching him wilt under the rapid-fire dialogue, his expression fading from angry to contrite, eyes lowered to the floor. There was a pause, Hotaka evidentially expecting some kind of response, and when Hanzo didn’t offer it, he barked another sentence or two. Hanzo’s head drooped even further, and then he said…something, so quiet Gwen could barely hear it, face flushed an even brighter shade of red.

And Hotaka barked an unexpected, boisterous laugh. Hanzo kept his gaze directed firmly at the floor as Hotaka pointed at him, then pointed at her, saying something else in a tone that brooked no argument or protest before throwing both hands in the air and walking out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Gwen sat, somewhere between bewildered and supremely annoyed. And then his voice came, just as quiet and low, but in English this time.

“I was merely seeing if we were compatible.”

Gwen stared at him in disbelief. “… _what_?”

His face flushed even further, and it finally registered that he wasn’t angry. He was _embarrassed_. She’d done the impossible and caught him completely off guard. “If we were not compatible,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “I would not have brought you here to work with me in the first place, Miss Hartford.”

“…what-” Gwen began, thoroughly confused and beginning to suspect she was part of a very complex joke she simply didn’t understand, “Exactly what do you mean by...compatible?"

His eyes lifted and met hers, cold and indifferent, devoid of emotion, stopping her short. “I did not expect you to understand.”

“I’m beginning to think there is very little about you that I understand, Mister Shimada.”

“I told you to call me Hanzo.” _There_ was that spark of anger. Of life.

“And I told you to call me Gwen.” she shot back.

The two stared at each other in silent faceoff, neither relenting. The door opened, and Hotaka bustled back in laden with another stack of trays and assorted items, steaming and fragrant with the promise of food. He set them on one of the low tables, muttering under his breath. Neither paid him any attention – neither was willing to break the wordless confrontation. He glanced between them both, then shook his head, barking something in Japanese at Hanzo, who steadfastly refused to look away as the sentence was repeated, and then repeated again a third time.

“…Hotaka-sensei has brought us food,” he finally said. Hotaka spat something else. “…and he wishes you to eat.” Another litany of Japanese followed that, and Hanzo finally relented, breaking off to exchange sharp words with the man, who looked more and more invested in whatever thorough scolding he was delivering, pointing at her emphatically. And he didn’t leave, this time, merely crossed his arms and waited when he was finished.

Hanzo sighed, lifting worn, tired, defeated eyes to hers. “Hotaka-sensei wishes me to apologize,” he began, the words dragged from his mouth whether he wanted to say them or no. “-and says that I have acted shamefully to an injured woman.”

“That’s very kind of him.” she evenly replied. “Might even accept it, if you delivered it like you actually meant it.”

He stiffened, and Hotaka muttered another warning. “-allow me to explain, Miss Hartford.”

“Please do, Mister Shimada.”

He sat even taller, ignoring the barbed and unwanted formality. “You were one of several scientists I considered, to perform the task I have ultimately given to you. There were two others who were suitable. Intelligent, driven, capable of great innovation and design, dedicated to their work.”

“…go on,” she said cautiously, interested now.

“There was very little difference between the three of you,” he continued under the watchful gaze of Hotaka, who quietly worked at setting up two trays, splitting the bowls evenly among them. “Equal skill, equal background, equal in everything. So I turned to your personality instead. You were type O, the others were both AB. You were more suitable, so I chose you."

"Wait." Gwen glanced between Hanzo and Hotaka, thoroughly confused. "...is this like an _astrology_ thing? Are you seriously telling me you picked me based on the stars aligning or some other bul-"

"- _as I said_ , Miss Hartford," he interrupted smoothly, eyes cold, "I did not expect you to understand."

She turned her attention instead to Hotaka, favoring him with a pleasant smile that he returned in kind, along with a tray just for her. He motioned for her to eat with slow, exaggerated care - as much a warning as instructional. Don't eat too quickly, don't harm yourself any more than the injuries you've already sustained. 

Gwen did, in fact, understand. Not the point that Hanzo was trying to make, but what was hidden in between - the fact that he had been so careful, so precise with his choice. The fact that he had done his research so thoroughly. This entire setup - task, puzzle, and all, it might have been someone else's to solve, if it were not for the blood running in her veins - something that she couldn't change if she tried.

Was it an odd way to make a decision? If the others he had considered were so closely matched in ability to her, he may as well have flipped a coin to decide. But he didn't. He went out of his way to find the most eminently suitable candidate, the one who not only filled all the requirements he was looking for in terms of skill, but also - in whatever hair-brained way he'd come to the conclusion - would work with him the best.

Gwen didn't understand his methods, no. But the fact that he _had_ those methods told her more about him, about the importance of the task he'd given her than he likely wanted to reveal. This wasn't a task for someone else. This was personal, it had to be. He wouldn't have taken such care otherwise. 

She ate in silence, and he did the same after a few more words exchanged with Hotaka, who left them to their meal. She didn't look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her, watching her as she ate, quietly calculating and, she was reasonably certain, trying to dig up some significance, some meaning from her lack of speech.

Because that was the game between them both. A dangerous dance of things unsaid in between all the words exchanged, a hunt, a riddle - the answer wasn't as simple as what he was doing, why she chose to stay. It was a search for truth, in between all the truths and half-statements. 

And, for a reason she had yet to discern, he wanted to unravel her just as much as she wanted to unravel him. 

So she gave him a line in the sand. "Who were the others?" she asked. Gwen wondered, idly, what this story would have been had it been one of them, not her - how they would have reacted to the sudden relocation, the dry, analytical presentation of facts about themselves, the stories of their lives. She wondered how much they had in common with him. If they would have tried to escape. If they were still out there, somewhere, or if Winston had chosen them too, or if they were firmly locked in Talon's grasp, two names on a list of many. 

"That information is no longer relevant, Miss Hartford." He said nothing more, dedicating himself to the bowls on his tray and the food contained therein. 

No, it wouldn't be, would it. Not anymore - not after she'd already come so close to delivering on her end of the bargain. The other two were no longer necessary. They no longer mattered to him. 

When something mattered to Hanzo Shimada, he threw himself into whatever it was with all the passionate, violent fervor of a wildly beating heart, concealed under a mask of serene calm. Hidden away in all but the most candid moments, a secret few witnessed or even discovered. 

And when something ceased to matter to Hanzo Shimada, it simply disappeared from existence as far as he was concerned, beneath his notice, no longer...relevant. 

Currently, _she_ was relevant. 

Gwen finished her food, settling back into the pillows and directing her gaze to Hanzo, who was working on doing the same, still watching her with wary regard. She gave him nothing, merely watched him eat with the same calculating, blatant stare he'd given her, as heedless of his discomfort as he'd been with her.

And eventually Hotaka returned, glancing between the two of them as he collected trays and bowls in kind, returning Gwen's smile and softly offered thank you. He exchanged a few more words with Hanzo, who answered him with a calm respect and fond regard that seemed almost familial, taking the tray from him and helping him clean up, the two chatting quietly as they left the room. 

After a lengthy period of time in which Gwen had little else to do but contemplate the patterns on the blanket Hanzo came back, settling back in the leather chair and curling one hand under his chin, silently watching her. Calculating. Eventually, he spoke. "You should rest, Miss Hartford."

Gwen couldn't really argue with that - the room was warm, her stomach was full, the soft hush of the fan in the distance and the silence were all conspiring to lull her to sleep, as much as she wanted to fight it. But he made no move to...well, move. Just sat and watched her. "...are you going to stay here the whole night?" She asked, mildly irritated.

"Of course." The surprise in his tone drew her sleepy attention to where he sat. "If they manage to find us, Miss Hartford, I do not intend to let them have you again." He delivered the sentence with a matter-of-fact finality, patting the bow next to the chair and clearly bewildered that she would even ask such a question. Gwen blinked, settling herself as best as she could, back to him, a sudden twinge of guilt crawling in her gut. 

He'd saved her.

He was a criminal. Probably. If Reaper were telling the truth. 

But he saved her, came back for her. 

He had two backup scientists on the line. Two backups that could have taken the research that she'd already completed, taken the results of the scan, whatever those might be, and turned them into some kind of answer to the puzzle. Either a workable solution, or confirmation that such technology was clearly impossible.

He didn't _need_ her.

But he came back anyway.

"...Hanzo?"

"Yes, Miss Hartford?" Came his immediate reply. 

"...what does type O mean?"

"It means you are a warrior," he answered, soft and quiet tones shot through with a strength he carried as constant and unyielding as the bow at his side. "When faced with adversity, you do not falter. You do not give in. You let it strengthen you instead."

"Is that all?"

"No," he replied, his voice rough with exhaustion. How long had it been since he slept? "-it also means you are strong-willed. Difficult. And _stubborn_."

"Likewise," she mumbled, eyelids heavy. "Thank you. For...coming back."

She nearly drifted off entirely by the time he replied. "...you are my responsibility, Miss Hartford. It would have been a great dishonor to desert you, when it was my actions that caused you to be captured. I...should never have left you behind. I was too eager to finish the hunt." A long pause. "...I am sorry."

An apology shouldn't have felt like a gift. And yet...it did, a gift so cautiously, tentatively offered that an unexpected warmth flooded her cheeks, and she was glad her back was to him, that he couldn't see her face. Gwen had a sneaking suspicion that if she had the energy to turn around just then, she'd see the same flush on his face, too. An awkward silence followed, one that stretched on and on until the tension in the room had nearly evaporated. His breathing evened and slowed from behind her, and hers did the same, sleep threatening to take her entirely. 

But she couldn't sleep, couldn't leave it at that.

"...Hanzo?"

"Yes, Miss Hartford?" he asked, drawn out as if dealing with a particularly petulant child.

"...if I have Shimada blood now, does this mean I get a fancy tattoo?" 

"No."

"But-"

"...go to _sleep_ , Gwen." Despite his exasperation, she could hear the quiet smile in his reply.

 


End file.
